Who are you in the world – the power of nicknacks and letting go
Last week I was video calling with a friend who has kindly stored the things I didn’t want to let go of when I moved overseas. They needed to make their garage into another usable room rather than just somewhere to store things.
We went through my four plastic storage boxes and condensed them down to two. It was mostly things with a sentimental value; photo-albums, music, and nicknacks. To be clear, I moved here with two suitcases. I let go of almost everything, furniture, my beloved car, all books bar the 20 I took with me (10 fiction, 10 non-fiction), household goods, collections, journals and diaries, sound-equipment, most of my clothes, soft furnishings, sewing machine etc. Everything that makes a house (or in my case a flat) a home. The most difficult was of course the mementos, things embued with memories of a particular time or experience. I know I wasn’t giving away my memories, but the physical reminders. Gifts from friends, paintings, that kind of thing.
When I arrived here, everything I had was precious to me. The world was not the internet haven for shopping it is today, and many times I kicked myself for having brought the “wrong” things. Stuff I’d given or thrown away would have come in damn useful here where neither love or money could buy it, but I digress. When you have very little, you really value what you have. When you can’t just run out and buy whatever takes your fancy coz it’s not available.
I’m an introvert and a craefter, I like to surround myself with little things that makes me feel…something. Like I have a past, perhaps?
Now we went through those last boxes again, but from a distance. Half had to go. I’d felt somehow safe knowing they were there? You’d think when you haven’t seen the things for 16 years letting go should be easy, right? Some things were easy. Other things broke my heart all over again when I saw them go in the bin. I woke up several times a night that week, heart pounding, remembering. Oh no!
I kept telling myself *now those books will be read and loved by someone else! Isn’t that good? The cuddly toy that hasn’t had a cuddle for over a decade will make someone else happy; the model Spitfires, Red Arrows, and miniature racing bicycle will grace someone else’s shelves instead of taking up space at the back of someone’s garage.*
I can’t afford to go pick it up right now, or have it shipped here, and I don’t know where my long term future lies. Right now, it’s here. And here is where things gets destroyed by the climate.
It also made me look around my bedroom and studio here, and notice the almost total absence of nicknacks and mementos. I’ve never been one for ‘use-less’ things that just collect dust, but I like to have a few pieces reminding me of where I’ve been. I collect pretty pens (that I use), that kind of stuff.
My walls are also bare for the most part, concrete is not easy to hang things on, but there’s a small print of London a friend gave me when I last visited, miniature Buddhist prayer flags fluttering on the curtains, printouts of the covers of my books that keep falling down coz bluetack… it just slides down, often taking the paint on the walls with it 
But while those things represented me, at that time. I don’t know what does now. It’s not like I can log onto the website with the rainforest name and order myself ten things to brighten things up. Mementos don’t work that way. They need to mean something. Like BodhiCattva, who disappeared when I moved here. That had been love at first sight, and the little Onyx figuerine had been my travel companion. Before the panda, obviously.
I bought two cat figuerines when we daytripped to Cozumel last year, mostly out of desperation coz I missed Bodhi so much, but I’ve failed to develop any connection with either. They just sit there, collecting dust, making me feel guilty for not loving them and wishing I hadn’t bought them.
Letting things go, for me, is complicated. Take this example; when me and my then boyfriend travelled around south east asia for two months? I had three sets of clothes with me, and added two sarongs along the road. By the time we were returning home I was heartily sick of those same clothes, and yet couldn’t leave them behind either because of all the memories. They reminded me of that special time every time I wore them (when I’d had a chance to wear something else for a while.)
I’m not a lover of all things new and shiny. It’s like the old thing being replaced is looking at me with sad eyes saying We went through all those times together and now I’m no longer good enough for you? Told you I’m weird. I wear things out, transform them into something else if possible, and at the end of that I thank them for their service and say goodbye.
I don’t know what I want now, what could represent me, and remind me of who I am. There’s a wooden box with kittens painted on it, a lantern I bought at Glasto in 2000, a wooden Tardis moneybox. But would I say they are me? Probably not. We’ll see.
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