NEW BLOG!

Hello blog friends!

I was never the one to excel in starting new conversations after long silences, which is kind of the case here but I just wanted to let you know that I have a new blog now; it's called The Life of an Introvert and it's a work in progress but it's my baby and I love it. I hope you'll love it too and that you'll follow me in this new journey.

Lots of love, always.

Khaoula.

Follow  The Life of an Intovert on http://the-life-of-an-introvert.weebly.com/

Hi.

Three days ago, I moved out of my childhood house. I moved out of the place I called  home for the past nineteen years, three months and six days of existence  on this planet, and it taught me a lot about myself. Mainly that I suck at goodbyes as much as hellos. Now you might say: what do you mean Khaoula ? I am pretty sure you knew that about yourself before. To answer that, yes I did. I have known that about myself ever since I was a little child, but I never thought I would get emotional over leaving a house, probably because I  never thought I would have to do it now, at least. I always imagined that when I leave this house it would be to another country and that as long as I am in Morocco I would never have to worry about leaving the four walls the witnessed my rises and falls.

Now, packing was a process since my room is filled with pictures, posters and little bits  and bobs that all hold thousands of crazy stories and happy memories, and being the person that I am I had to stop and (kind of)  re-live every single moment. But that wasn't even the hard part. It didn't hit me until I had to close the door of the house for the last time. I froze  and remembered everything. I remembered the countless late nights spent studying, the teen angst, the 3 am solo dance parties, the good news celebrations, the painful heart breaks, the late night/ early morning phone/Skype calls, the excessive TV-show binge watching, the endless drama and the sleepless hours spent over thinking. But more than anything I remembered my grand-mother, I remembered all of the amazing years we had together, all of the laughs, the cries, the hugs and the arguments. I remembered how much she means to me  I closed that door and I felt guilty. I felt  guilty for leaving a huge part of me behind willingly, and I absolutely hated it.

I am currently sitting in my new room (which I LOVE btw) , listening to Broods and trying to convince myself that all of those memories still live inside me and my only question is what if I forget ? what happens then ?

That is all.