The place I thought I'd spend a year; and now I'm leaving less than 4 months later.
True, I am planning on returning in a month; but it's only for 2 weeks, and it might not even happen in the end.
Also, I don't know what I'm doing afterward; packing up my life from this place also symbolizes stepping into the very unknown.
The thought normally thrills, not scares, me; I wonder why it's different now.
Perhaps because I thought I was finally finally settling down; and now I'm packing up again.
I'm not sad or regretful or upset. It's just emotional. It's life.