There's something profoundly sad about tossing a huge pile of your belongings, precious or not, in the garbage. It's even more depressing to open boxes not touched for a year and find that everything has rotted away. I would have probably thrown out half the stuff anyway, but the injustice of mold deciding for me what I throw out... why does it get to decide? It's my stuff, I have a right to it... right?

Not only that, but it's indiscriminate. It nibbled through piles of papers, stacks of clothes and through two of my photo albums. I'm afraid that with time, my memories of my first year in Korea will turn as soggy and discolored as those pictures are now. I feel violated. I don't care about the papers or clothes, but the pictures....

I wish I could get mad, I wish I could blame someone. I wish I could quit being the eternal vagabond and actually live somewhere like a normal person. I wish... I wish.... If this was the first time I was sabotaged by mold I'd accept it as a challenge and let things go. But it's the second.

Quite suddenly I feel like I've been doing this far to often recently. I've been digging up everything. I've been throwing away my past, my college notes, my high school assignments, my memories of Korea, my pictures of Pohang. For some reason everything has got to go and it's leaving me feeling unsubstantial, like a mist passing through the world. Nothing can hinder me now. I have no past. The future isn't even a question. The only thing that matters is the present. Do I have a place to sleep tonight? Do I have something to do today?