I always wanted a box. An empty box with compartments and also a wide space to let fit something medium sized on a small scale. Not that I had things to put away or special things to be kept neatly so that I won't lose them. Or that girls usually get organizers for their fake jewelleries and makeup. It's just that sense of belonging, of home, a sanctuary that is able to run to. Every birthday I would be hoping that I will find a box wrapped in birthday printed papers in my small pile of birthday presents, pero nada, cero.
Which my paranoid mind, of course, then translated such situation and longing, as me have yet found home myself. Which is sad when everything has been prepared well for me, but I couldn't feel the connection. I can't feel the connection. Last year, I had a realization that I need to change but bit by bit and one of the first thing I did was getting a lot of boxes. Made sure everything I own had a place to go, made sure they feel that they belong and I once care for them before I throw them away.
I have become more peculiar this year yet have I found my sanctuary. I hope I do, soon as I can't bear being naked in this cold world. Not as idiotic to get frozen to death.
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