It’s difficult to pack away your things, thinking, knowing that you won’t see them for a while. It’s even harder to sell your things; knowing that you will never see these things ever again. And yet, it’s liberating. It’s amazing. It’s a great feeling to know that you aren’t tied down to these material posessions. You don’t care about that yearbook from your high school, you don’t care about that gold star on that assignment you completed in Grade 5, nah, you don’t even care about that Christmas card that your aunt gave you three years ago. I can throw it all away, I don’t need that stuff. And yet, you do. You don’t throw it away. You agonise on whether to keep it or not, and in the end you do keep it, just in case. Just in case you have children one day that would love to go through your childhood via photos, drawings, classroom letters. Just like you love going through your father’s primary school exercise books when he had just started to learn how to write in English, just like you love going through your mother’s 80’s photo album, with that photo of her in an oversized cardigan and her wind swept perm in front of that cool bright yellow Commodore your father owned. These are the things that bring you joy. Just like how your crap will bring joy to your future generations, or even just to yourself when you’re a decrepit person in the year 2050, looking at forgotten things like printed photos (woah), a floppy disc (I kept a few!), and VHS tapes with episodes of ‘Malcolm in the Middle.’
So we’ve kept lots, oh, we’ve sold things, definitely, (Lionel will post about his adventures with Gumtree vs. eBay shortly) but mostly, we’ve kept the small things that remind us of our childhood, trinkets or toys that our parents/relatives had given us, letters from school friends, just random shit that we’ll forget had ever existed until we open that box one day in the future, and exclaim ‘Oh, look at that, I forgot about this!’ and then put it away and forget it some more.