One of my favourite things is my trusty backpack. It wasn’t expensive, it’s tearing at the sides, but it has brought me places near, far and wide.. He was there with me on my first ever trip, his zippers trying very hard to not bust open from the amateurly packed excessive clothes. He was there when I found the secret formula to the amount of pants needed, and he was grateful to go on a diet when I learnt to roll my clothes.
Dad bought this 50L “NorthFace” bag when he was in Cambodia, and he was so proud of it. Little did he know that it would lead to many disapproving head shakes every time I had the bag strapped on my shoulders.
My heart sinks every time I to stuff my bagpack back into the dark scary closet. We whisper a little good bye and promise to see each other soon. Every time I pull him out from the closet again we reunite like old lovers, I pull his zippers and my heart makes a little skip of tender joy…
Backpack o’ backpack, how many adventures have we had?
