This is a letter I wrote to my family before I left for college.
As I type this I am sitting on my bedroom floor (partially because I want to, mostly because every other surface in my room is covered in clothes, books, trash, and little things that I am convinced I cannot leave behind - my life could depend on that flashlight someday). I’m packing some of my things in suitcases which my parents will then bring back with them.
My old friend the Big Red suitcase, has embarrassed me on many occasions at different stages of my life, due to his conspicuous color and size, which to a pre-teen trying to fit in is a reason for homicide. I first got him as a Christmas present when I was thirteen years old. He has been to Washington D.C. (where he had to suffer a lot of other suitcases and a small living space in the bus), Virginia, Mexico, New Mexico, all throughout Texas (except for El Paso of course, it seems that my parents are morally opposed to visiting that part of the state), Mexico again (upon which he was probably thinking ‘seriously, this place again? are you kidding me?’ because they weren’t very nice to him the first time, poor soul). So we’ve been through a lot together, this big red bag and I.
Through the course of our travels he’s been tossed, yanked, buried, and stuffed. Now I’m packing him with towels and my alarm clock, and he’s probably thinking “I hope we’re going someplace nice this time, like Canada”. Little does he know, I will be sending him back to the attic to stay behind while I’m off on another adventure. Just know, Big red, that in a couple years I’ll be back for you and we’re going to go somewhere nice, even nicer than Canada. We’re going to go to Britain, or Germany, or maybe even Switzerland, hopefully all three. I’ve got big plans in store for you Big Red, God willing.
Y’all probably think I’m crazy for writing to a suitcase, but it’s at the beginning of your trip that you think about all of the places you’ve been before and how they will measure up, trying to make the unknown a little bit more known. Plus this is my blog and I’ll speak to which ever inanimate objects I like.
Nervously twitching from stress but forever yours,