Nearest and Dearest
Monday, August 30th, 2010The garage sale was fantastic– in the context of profit. People were surprisingly snide about how my clothes wouldn’t them (there were a lot of “if I were twenty years younger…” “if I were as tiny as you are…”), but I assumed that was an attempt at self-deprecation rather than a rude display of defense against innate jealousy.
Men looking for tools didn’t find what they wanted; although, I did sell a snowboard + shoes to a dude who was buying for his son. Sweet.
In this semi-purge (it was a great purge, but I say semi– because the mass in my closet seems to have stayed the same), the spiritually liberating process of shedding belongings is bittersweet; I find it rather odd that my relationship with items has sort of weirded me out because I’m selling them to other people. When a person places their hands on something I (used to) own, and I see it from a stranger’s perspective– rather than That-Shirt-I-Bought-That-Year-Because-Of-This or I-Remember-That-Summer/Winter/Spring/Fall– well, the memories sort of get in the way of realizing that they’re just objects, and that the sentiments I create are my life, rather than ‘its’ life. To them, the item is reduced to aesthetic and practical value, compressed into how much of a bargain it is (everything was practically $1). Anyway, when you’re left with what you think you need versus a superfluous silo of junk, it’s like the spirit of your past has resurrected itself and embodied itself in the stack of science-fiction and fantasy novels lining your desk, your packed itself into your bookcases, hanging themselves in your closet.
And in these flashes of memories, the replay and rewind of instances in your mind inevitably attracts the concept of mortality; that time passes, that we grow old, that certain items of yours become living thoughts of your life because of how they have accompanied you through the ups and downs and the unexpecteds… you begin thinking of items that could guard you through your future, your unknowns. What you will pass on as part of your legacy… to the unthinkable heirs and grandchildren whose spirits lurk beyond the pale of the present.
My mom’s vintage Rolex… it might be real. Even if my dad used to make watches and made boku bucks on being a watch salesmen/designer back in the day in Taipei– I can see him making this grand gesture.
Cartoonishly, stereotypically Asian, I’ve remembered this rice-cooker box my entire life. It’s always been our photo-box, where we store the multitudes of pictures that date back to my parent’s youth. Probably because it’s a sturdy, nicely square size– I don’t even think we still have that rice cooker. Cos it’s white. Ours is an olive green, hahaha.
The camera of my youth… my parents have used this camera since forever. Still in great condition… we used to drive to the arboretum behind my grandparent’s house in Illinois and take pictures in the park in the fall.
New things to make your own: I found this adorable night light at the goodwill, and it feels like something I’ll have forever…
GPOYW on a Monday. Dressing up for kicks and giggles. I love this shawl I scored at a Goodwill a few months back; others were skeptical of the purchase, but it’s such a bright, burnt gold with a fully endowed fringe… too FUN!
My jewelry box runneth over… but it’s not filled with jewelry. I found some cute perfume samplers in a bag of my sister’s stuff in the garage, and my diploma for UW is still rolled up and chillin’– I haven’t actually seen it yet! I think just having it is enough. The small wooden panel on the left with Chinese on it was from a very old Japanese temple in HuaLien, Taiwan. A guy was writing Buddhist scripts out and whatever you choose, he relates it to you in a way to give you a sort of fortune/ future advice. I won’t go into the meaning because it’s too heavy and deep.
Found in the rice-cooker-box-of-memories, a photograph of my dad in his white VW that he drove across the country with my grandparents.
My very first trophy, bestowed for winning third place in a poetry contest in 5th grade. Apparently the ballad of “BOB, who needs a JOB” was a semi-success with the judges. I didn’t win anything but the trophy; strangely enough, they awarded my teacher with 25$. My grandpa gave me $20 for winning, and because he loves me.
A Don Quixote wooden figurine I found at Goodwill…
My aunt made this for me, without measurements! She’s a seamstress, and is probably the most stylish out of everyone on my dad’s side. I love the print… so Miro-esque!
Since I was little I had always wanted to live in a library… so since I was little I’ve been collecting the books I’ve read. Especially Piers Anthony books– a sort of geeky, dorky thing to do as his fantasy novels are primarily based on puns. My friend’s mom totally digs him too, and I have an autograph and letter from him instructing me on my “thees” “thous” and “thines”…
I guess I’m sort of at the point where I could always go shopping, but I wouldn’t really buy anything anymore. My shop-cceptable quota is thoroughly saturated, which is a good thing, but I still have an addiction to VHS tapes and books. Anyway, it’s been strange realizing which items I will want forever and that mean so much to me– even if they’re just things. Personal symbols of a lifetime. It’s cheesy, but surprisingly comforting.
Graceee
