Gabriel Fauré, Pavane for Orchestra and Chorus in F-Sharp Minor, Op. 50

Like any rite of passage, moving out of a place is the most clear expression that a period of your life has ended. I've moved around 8 times in my life. I guess that's not much. The wonderful part is that it allows you to keep what's important and leave behind outdated objects. 

Objects. The memory that resides in them is amazing. Objects detonate the recollection of trips, the eternal love for handcrafts, plants bought in small markets, generations of presents handed from your great-grandmother to your grandmother and so on until they reach your hands. Preciousness in objects is incredibly subjective. When I look at the things I'm helping my mother to pack, some of them make me smile and some of them make me melancholic. By the end of the day, my soul is like a cardboard box full of stacked random feelings.

I kept wondering why I have been so slow in this packing process, I guess it's the recognition of all these memories that creates a certain resistance or pause. A natural contemplation of time awareness, of many passing seasons and inevitable change.