I don't know if I'm ready for this

Reality. It's a scary old thing. Realising that something you've known has been coming for a long time, but never really acknowledged just how short a time you have until that moment, is finally here. It's a scary, emotional, lonely roller coaster to be riding. And part of me wonders if I'm ready.

I have ten days. Ten days until my room will be represented by a pile of boxes and an empty bed. Ten days until I move my belongings to a different room, waiting to be hauled across the road to my new home, ten days until my house mates become friends, ten days until I look around searching for the photos of my friends plastered across my walls, ten days until I can stare at blank walls, remembering the comforting faces that used to live there.

I don't think I'm ready for this.

I don't think I'm ready to move out of my first home away from home. I don't think I'm ready to pack up my room, my belongings, my life of the last year. I don't think I'm ready to say goodbye to my house mates. I don't think I am ready to be done in my second year of uni.

I don't think I am ready to be a third year. I don't think I am ready to begin my journey to the end of my educational life. I don't think I am ready to live with "the boy" when I still have so far to go until I am over him. I don't think I am ready, even though I have to be.

I have known this moment was coming, I have been waiting for it, wishing it here for months, and it is only now that I realise that while I have been wishing for this moment to arrive, I have been wishing all the moments of the past few months away.

I have been living for a future I am now petrified to welcome.

Part of me knows moving out will be a good thing. I will finally be able to let go of a lot of my past that haunts me. All of the memories that my room tell me each night will be gone and packed away. I will not have to live in the room where so many hearts have fallen in and out of love. I will not have to be reminded day after day of the people who used to fill this room with me, who made it feel whole and complete and who then left and never returned.

But while I will finally be able to walk away from those memories, I will also be leaving behind the good ones. I will never again get to look at the "We know what you look like... NAKED" sign on the shower room door, or hear the feet of people on the gravel as they make their way to or from the front door. I will never get to just walk into Kate's room when she isn't here and steal her things, or hide 'the sock' in her room and await the glorious scream when she finds it. I will never get to sit in the kitchen talking for hours when there is a perfectly good sofa in the next room, or sit on the sofa all night writing essays and getting high off tea and coffee. I will never be able to write on the board about the latest thought to enter my head when I walk past it, or help Blow with her make up when she puts way too much on the one eye.

I will never experience the power of the Bungalow Ghost again or get to sing "Come knock on our door, we've been waiting for you."

I cannot wait to live in 61, to spend my final year of uni living with eight boys and one girl. I cannot wait to slide down the stairs on mattresses and have huge house parties in a house where there is actually room for everyone to fit. I cannot wait for space to not be an issue. But I will miss the bungalow and all the memories it has bought me, no matter how good or bad they may have been.

I will miss The Bungabow.