Moving isn’t only about lifting boxes. It’s about what each step teaches you, about letting go, asking for help, and noticing the invisible weights we carry along the way.
The Invisible Weight of Being Seen
Carrying bags, bins, and backpacks through the streets and up the stairs is physical work. But the heaviest weight wasn’t in my arms — it was in my mind.
I imagined eyes on me every time I made a trip, judging the number of bags I had, questioning why I needed so many little trips. Each tote, bin, or paper bag felt like it carried not just belongings, but the quiet fear of judgment.
Over time, I realized these objects are more than just “stuff.” They are proof of a life lived, of routines kept, of memories stored. Being seen with “too much” isn’t shameful — it’s evidence that we’ve made room for living, even if it looks small or messy to someone else.
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Frugality and the Small Guilt of Asking for Help
On our first moving day, we used Lalamove, “a small 600kg van option” for electric fans, foams, a large storage bin, a small storage bin, and a folding table. The van felt too big for what we had, and I worried we wasted the fee because we underestimated our space needs.
I am frugal by nature. Every peso counts, not out of greed, but responsibility. And asking for help often feels uncomfortable. I don’t want to disturb the driver, the neighbor, or anyone else. Part of it is shyness too, an unease around strangers, the quiet reluctance to impose even when I know I need the help.
But that day, the driver and his helper were patient, considerate, and unexpectedly kind. They carried without complaint, moved without rushing, and reminded me that asking for help isn't always a burden, it can invite gentleness, too.
Carrying everything alone isn’t always the answer. Accepting help doesn’t diminish effort; it makes movement lighter and grace possible.
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Too Precious to Let Go
Some things resist letting go. In our old apartment, two broken refrigerators— both heavy, both useless —sat like monuments. I wanted to sell them, maybe even fix them, but the thought of discarding them weighed heavier than the appliances themselves. Eventually, I faced my shyness and asked the owner of a small repair shop to buy them, along with our air cooler for any amount he thought fair. It wasn’t much, but it gave me comfort to know I hadn’t simply discarded them; at least there was some return, however small.
The same goes for the furniture we moved ourselves: the Nordic chair, the table, and the bare open shelf. I carried them one by one, choosing not to mind the judgment of passersby. I couldn’t let them go, they were still in good form, still useful, still part of the home I wanted to build.
But not everything could stay. The old kitchenwares, worn stuffed toys, tired hanging organizers, all the weary things had to be left behind. Letting them go felt heavy, too, though not in the arms. The weight was in the heart.
Moving forced me to face this: sometimes the hardest part isn’t what you carry, but what you release. And when letting go finally comes, it is also a form of movement.
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The Quiet Victory of Movement
By the last trip up the stairs, exhaustion was real, but relief was deeper. Movement itself became a meditation. We carried, we paused, we asked for help, we let go.
When we threw some of our old things in the garbage area, garbage collector picked them up— sorting through what we had released, perhaps to sell or repurpose. He even thanked me, and that simple gesture struck me. What felt like mere discards to us became something of value to him. Maybe it wasn’t much, but it could mean income, or simply usefulness. That moment moved me — it reminded me that movement isn’t only personal; sometimes it quietly ripples outward, touching someone else’s life, too.
And in that moment, the imagined judgments I carried — the fear of having too many bags, too many trips, too much “stuff” — slowly faded. No one was measuring the bins, totes, or backpacks anymore. What remained was this simple truth: we moved. Quietly, frugally, fully.
And in that, there is victory. A quiet one — but real all the same.
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Moving isn’t just about transporting things. It’s about discovering what we truly hold on to, what we can release, and how small acts of persistence become quiet victories.
Even beneath the misses and the messes, each step, each bag, each moment of hesitation or courage teaches us that we can still move forward, carry our weight, and make space for what matters most. - MESSY E.
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