Packing again

I had not thought about (never forgotten!) the suitcase Serena gave me when I was leaving Berkeley. I had intended to only borrow it for the trip down to SoCal, return the empty suitcase to her via some other friends driving up and down the 5 (or the 101… UGH) throughout summer. But she told me I should just keep it since I’d need it for Korea. And boy was she right.

It’d take me more than the allotted two free checked bags to make this one-way flight. I checked in two more with my mom’s free allowance, stuffing more on our carry-ons, somehow managed to fit under the weight restriction. This olive green and black suitcase held almost exclusively my “fancy” clothes while in the other shapeless black one was dumped the everyday jeans.

Time to repack and move, again, this time hopefully to a relatively permanent home where I’ll hang pictures on the wall, I unzip the suitcase. It’s not the first time I’ve opened it since I’ve been to Korea. Looking for some random items I couldn’t remember where I placed, I had gone through all of my luggage multiple times, for my lighter, a hat, shot glasses. But today, as I check the content once more, this time, more tenderly caressing the silk and the ruffles, I am struck by how colorful my wardrobe is, used to be. These are the colors of summer, of SoCal, of sunsets and beaches and picnics. Teals and oranges and lime greens, dusty rose, gold, straw hats from Cuba and wild elephant print jumpers, pieces my mom warned me I wouldn’t be able to wear here no matter the season. I kind of understood then, that the culture is more conservative here sure. But it’s not about how much skin shows or “in fashion” a certain style is. I think I understand now.

I’m ashamed of the blue and black dominating my winter. I occasionally dare red crops and leopard cardigans. Sticking out like a sore thumb in the sea of long black padding jackets and oversized beige cashmere coats. But I miss the tropical hues. I want more fun in my life.