The Day I Moved Out of the Apartment We Rented Together

The roll of packing tape sat on the dining table, its end picked to shreds by my fingernail, and I still could not find the edge to pull.

Eight o'clock on a Saturday morning. October rain was ticking on the tin roof next door, and I was standing in the middle of the living room with two cardboard boxes I had not yet folded open. Hân and I had rented this apartment together for three years. At the end of September we broke up. No shouting, nobody slamming a door. Just one long evening of talking, and then both of us nodding that it was time to stop. The lease ran until the end of October, and somebody had to be the first to go.

I am writing this for anyone about to move out of a place they shared. Not so you can do it faster. There is no way to make moving out after a breakup light, only a few ways to make it a little less chaotic.

And it does not have to be decisive. Some people say you should be cold about it, finish in a single day, never look back. I could not do that. I do not think everyone should, and lingering one more beat does not make you weak.

One Saturday, two boxes

A few days earlier we had split everything by text message, short as meeting minutes. The rice cooker was mine, because I bought it first. The bookshelf went to Hân, since most of the books were hers. The pothos plant would stay with whoever stayed. Hân had already carried her things out the week before, so that morning the apartment held only my share, and the pale rectangles on the walls where picture frames used to hang.

Tín, a colleague from the construction site, pulled up in his old pickup at nine.

— What about this one? — Tín held up a blue plastic coat hanger.

— That one… I don't know whose it is.

— Put it in the shared box, then?

— Yeah. The shared box.

There was no box called shared. I just did not want it in Tín's hand for one more second.

At first I assumed the hard part would be the things with memories in them: the cup Hân drank her tea from, the photo from Đà Lạt. Those I could wrap, because they hurt in a way that had a name. Pick up the cup and I knew exactly what I was sad about. So I wrapped them first, carefully, and thought I was doing rather well.

Then came the blue hanger, a charger nobody could claim, half a box of toothpicks, this roll of tape. The things with no name. That was where I gave out and sat on the floor in the sound of the rain. It was not quite sadness. I stalled because they showed me that three years was not only the days worth remembering. It was also hundreds of objects mixed together so thoroughly that nobody knew which were whose, and nobody had ever needed to.

So I did one small thing, with Tín reminding me: pack one box at a time, and give each box only thirty minutes.

The first time, the opening ten minutes felt ridiculous: thirty minutes for a drawer of cables. But when I reached the not-sure pile, I felt lighter. I did not have to decide anything. I only had to put it away, and putting away I could do.

What tends to ruin a packing day is trying to divide everything perfectly fairly, down to every chopstick and every glass, as if the day were a trial. It is tempting because it sounds like decency. But often people divide too carefully so they will not have to say something else, and by midday both of you are only tired. If one item costs you ten minutes of deciding whether to keep or take it, drop it in the not-sure pile. Decide later.

The moment I almost stayed another month

Three in the afternoon, and Tín carried the last box down to the truck. The rain had stopped, and there were shoe prints on the floor. The landlady came up to take the room back. She picked up the keys I had just put on the table, looked around, and said:

— If you want to stay another month, that's fine. I haven't promised the place to anyone. Take your time.

It was as light as being offered a glass of water. And I almost said yes.

Just one more month. It's already empty anyway, it's only a room. And I'm still looking for a new place.

The reason that sounded most reasonable was money: one more month, less rush. But I knew I was not looking for a new place the way someone actually looking does. I had seen two rooms, and I had found both only because Tín sent me the links. What I was about to buy with a month of rent was not time to search. It was the feeling that this door was not closed yet, that this was not really over. Staying a month in an apartment stripped of everything, I would not be waiting for anyone. I would only be waiting a little longer before having to admit it.

I do not want to say that nodding would have been wrong. Some people need the extra month for real, because of schedules, or money, or a new place that is not ready, and that is reason enough. What I learned that afternoon was a question to whisper to myself before answering, a very plain one: what am I staying on for? If the answer is something you could write on paper, like repainting a wall, waiting for paperwork, waiting for payday, then stay. If the answer is "so I don't have to go yet", then at least you know what you are buying.

— No, thank you. I'm handing the room back today. Thank you very much.

That is what I said, in a dry voice, my hand still gripping the strap of my bag. She nodded as if this happened every month, and probably it did. Some people describe this moment as no longer carrying, rather than forgetting. That afternoon I had no words for it. I only knew my hand had put the keys down, and keys do not ask to be picked up again.

The week after, in the new room

The new room is on the third floor, across the river, and the ceiling fan clicks on every third turn. The first night I ate takeaway rice sitting on the floor, because I had not bought a table yet. My rice cooker sat in the corner, plugged in but unused, its small yellow light on as if asking what I planned to cook.

I slept badly for the first few nights. Some people need something for nights like that, and there is a ten-minute practice for a sleepless night if you want to try one. For me it was only lying there listening to the fan, counting to the third turn, then counting again.

By the weekend I opened the not-sure bag. There were nine things inside. I kept two, threw away six, and the ninth was the blue hanger, which I decided no longer belonged to anyone, so I hung my jacket on it. Once it was hung, I stood looking at it for a while, then went to make iced milk coffee.

There was one thing I had not gotten to yet, which was my phone. The photos were still there, and I had not touched them. That could wait for another time, and if you are standing there now, deleting old photos or keeping them is a question where either answer is allowed.

If you finish packing and feel heavier than before you started

This happens, and it does not mean you packed wrong. Two reasons come up often. One is that you did too much in a single day: wrapping, carrying, handing back the key, and then noticing you have not eaten since morning. A tired body makes sadness sound louder, and at that point do not try to understand anything, just eat and sit down. The other is that the new place has no room yet for your things, so the whole space looks like a storage unit. Leave that box another few days. Nobody is grading how fast you unpack.

And if neither reason fits, and you still feel unusually heavy, there is a section at the end of this article for exactly that.

This morning I took my jacket off the blue hanger. It is still only a coat hanger. I find that is enough.

When to seek professional support

This article is a story about one move out after a breakup. It cannot replace treatment, and I am not promising that once you have packed, the sadness will ease.

But here are a few signs you should bring to a professional, rather than carrying them alone:

• For several weeks you can barely eat, or your sleep is upended, and your days are starting to come apart
• The sadness or the emptiness will not move, or grows heavier week by week
• A racing heart, trouble breathing or tightness in the chest comes back more than once: please get checked first, to rule out a physical cause
• You think about hurting yourself, even if it is just a passing thought

The last point cannot wait. Speak with someone you trust, today. The Emergency Support page explains what holds true in moments like that.

And if the breakup involved threats, being followed or violence, that is not something to let go of or be generous about. Please look for support. Seeing a professional is not excessive, and nobody has to wait until things are at their worst before they are allowed to.