I recall reading somewhere as a kid that “The only thing constant is change”. I’m sure I was impressed with how fancy it sounded, its play of words and the juxtaposition therein. I am certain I noted it somewhere so that I can sneak it into any essay or debate I could, to get brownie points. And I’m confident I did write or quote it whenever I could. But like most, I never really paused to think of what it meant, until now.

Having lived all my life in a cosy haven within a single town, surrounded by familiar faces who moved along with me from school to college, running into people who knew each other from some strange connection, I was cocooned in a web of comfort and familiarity. I ran into people in the strangest places, bumped into acquaintances in malls, and connected with friends of friends in real life, and not just on Facebook. The world seemed small. And I didn’t mind it one bit.

Life tends to be rather serendipitous. I hadn’t planned to be where I ended up ultimately. I was mentally prepared to see most of my friends move out of town and while it made me sad to not have their familiar sense and presence in person, I accepted, as I ought to. I was certain I’d have people staying back and that we’d continue to be as much a part of each other’s lives physically, as we aimed to be virtually with those who were starting life afresh in another town.

But as I said, life tends to be rather serendipitous. I found myself facing the reality of having to move out to pursue an opportunity I couldn’t let go of. In the days leading up to it, I was caught up in other things, or perhaps I was willingly keeping myself occupied and didn’t have time to pore over what it meant and how it would end up affecting me. So when confronted with the standard ‘How are you feeling?’, I’m sure I baffled a few by responding that I was rather indifferent to the idea until then.

Is there a moment when change hits you? Is there supposed to be one? Is it one flashbulb instant when you realize the gravity of it all? Or is it a long drawn process that makes you accept it day after day? Is it waking up and by force of habit reaching out for your phone, only to realize that the table is no longer there? Is it the petty desire to wear a particular shirt, only to realize you forgot to bring it here? Is it hearing new people around you pass comments that send you back to specific moments with your chosen few?

For all our love for change and what it encompasses within, we long for what is comfortable and stable. And so you have your copies of worn out books that you hold dear, some scratched out coins that are always in your pocket, that one song that always sends you back in time. Even though we carry the world, our world, in our phones these days, that one group picture of your friends does a lot more when you can feel it on paper rather than when you press to zoom in and end up swiping to the next one accidentally. You put up posters and sketches and pictures and letters and hope that the barren walls of your new dwelling will feel less threatening. You feel you’ve stamped as much of yourself onto it as much as it has stamped its lack of familiarity upon you. You read about Plath saying “I AM. I AM. I AM” and remind yourself that you are still the same. But the deep breaths and old brags of her heart are misleading.

Why go through the trouble of putting everything you know aside and start anew, when you have no desire to change? What do you expect to gain out of a fresh experience in an unfamiliar territory, when you have put up your own perception of who you are and what you know and what you do as an excuse to refuse anything that scares you? And so you take baby steps. For every 3 things that you say no to, you force yourself to do the fourth. You adjust to the routine of the place when you realize that it won’t adjust to yours. You call up the people you love and show them your new world, and how you’ve ensured that it looks like it is yours for the time being. You FaceTime and Whatsapp and Skype and remind each other that within the excuse of exchanging décor ideas and curtains, is an implicit understanding that you’re inviting each other into your new homes, and by extension, your new lives. And that perhaps distance does make the heart grow fonder.

Soon you’ll accept all of this for what it is. And if you’re lucky enough, you’ll find a space for more people within your life. You’ll have a fresh set of inside jokes, a string of ‘remember this, and remember that’, your own brand of shared laughs and miseries, and even your own classes of disappointments and heartbreaks. But c’est la vie.

Dwelling upon change and how it may end up changing you is a slippery slope. The more you ponder upon it, the more it’s likely to bring you down. So you immerse yourself into your new routine and don’t give yourself time to think about it. You go to bed so drained that your mind can no longer offer its concocted scenarios of ‘What If-s?’ to fluster you. All you can do is accept. The fear and the worry. The excitement and the challenge. You can turn to Stevie Nicks singing “Well, I’ve been afraid of changing…” or you can look to Nina Simone crooning “It’s a new dawn, it’s a new life for me”.

As I write this from my new bed in my new room, my eyes go to my wall that I’ve decorated with the words of my favourite authors. And next to it is a shelf. It’s not my shelf. But it has my things on it. I’m conflicted if I should call it mine. Because it will be someone else’s next year. And I wonder if he’ll think about the same thing. So I simply look back into my screen and go to the top to proofread this piece. I read “The only thing constant is change” and for the first time in my life, I start to believe it.