Move

Count me a skeptic when it comes to moving house - and my skepticism is not ill-informed. I've moved more times than I have fingers.

Moving around, from the medical intern's hostel to any unoccupied room inside the hospital, is one of those skills you can never get better than me. Well, that was my nomadic way of living, if not necessarily my preferred one, and it turned out to be the cheapest way to stay near the hospital in my early years of work. I simply toted a bag with red, white and blue stripes. It's the size of a suitcase, zipped up without lock, shiny with repeated force of friction, blooming with self-sufficiency.

I settled down, finally, when I bought my home fourteen years ago. As the days went on, one bag with red, white and blue stripes could never be enough for me. I know I can buy more books when I got a book shelf at home. Um, buying books is like potato chips. You can't stop at just one. Obviously I can't move house at the snap of a finger after all these years. I metamorphose into a centipede who, when asked which foot it moved first, froze.