Before we moved our stuff out, I found myself taking pictures of random things in the apartment. So many terrible pictures with no artistic angles in mind made more terrible by the fact that I used a film camera and rolls of film would actually have to be taken somewhere to get developed. I did it in a desperate attempt to capture the little details that I knew I'd forget, for example, the last standing location of our floor lamp, the view from our fifth floor window, the different variations and stretches of space between me and the door. One day, I thought, I'd use those pictures as prompts to remember life at apartment 5G, how new it was, how fun it was, and how hard it was to leave. Sometimes, they may be sad and delirious, but all memories--good and bad-- are part of something bigger. Bigger, even, than a 600 square foot L-shaped studio.
I've already written about how everything I do is potentially the last time I do it. A friend of mine wonderfully put it like this:
He gets it. This is the point we're at right now, as Peace Corps Volunteers wrapping up our service. Even thinking about saying goodbye to the little things--whether it's the shampoo we buy, the scratchy toilet paper, or the Ukrainian deodorant we use that doesn't seem to work but it's our only option--is emotional. Maybe never wanting to forget how earthy the toilet paper makes me materialistic or delirious. I don't know. As I get ready to leave Melitopol, Ukraine, I feel the need to capture as much as I can, this time through blogging. I feel like this is the more responsible choice. Otherwise, I'd probably come back to America looking a little crazy as airport security asks me to open my suitcase only to find it's completely filled with toilet paper.