Deep down
I rummage my bag for a pen. The employee waiting for my
signature looks furiously at me under her reading glasses. I get more nervous
and it takes me longer to find the pen when I think about how many pairs of
eyes behind me stare indignantly at me.
Oops… it is red. The one I use to correct my students’ papers.
Now I have to delve deeper into the bag to find a blue one. The fidgety steps
behind me in the queue sound like war drums. Sooner than I expect, I will hear
words darting in the back of my head like arrows. I swear in my head that the moment I get home
I will turn my big fat bag upside down on the floor and throw away all the
items that crowd it and make any attempt to find anything a torture.
As I walk home, the strap
of the bag cuts deep through my aching shoulder. I remember mother’s complaint:
“you took all your books to school when you were young. I tried to convince you
to leave the ones you don’t use every day but you always insisted”. Having all
my books and notebooks made me feel secure then. I kept the habit when I got
older. The things I loved made me feel safe and I kept them close: my
favorite books, the fountain pen my uncle gave me, the golden chain my father gave me when I
was twelve, the huge fur coat my husband bought me in America and piles and
piles of things that crowd the rooms in my house . My hand bag was no
exception. I kept myself surrounded by memory- infused stuff and carried all my
luggage around. I felt safer knowing I
have everything I need handy. With
years’ worth of accumulated stuff, I felt heavier, shackled and entangled in a
web from the past and now is the time to get rid of the extras. I need to live
lighter, feel lighter. I will start with my hand bag.
I open the door, throw the burning hot keys and the sun glasses
on the coffee table and decide to skip the shower until I take care of the
bag. Now that is one brave decision and
I might as well reward myself with a cup of earl gray tea to push me through
the hard job. My uncle loved earl grey
too. The kettle clicks indicating water is boiled and wakes me from my
thoughts. When was the last time I emptied the contents of my bag? I fail to
remember. When I want to change bags I usually take everything in a bag and
stuff into another. I choose the big ones that won’t revolt against the volume
and the weight of my stuff. When was the
last time I de-cluttered my messy life? Five years ago when I moved into the
new apartment? I don’t remember getting rid of things back then, I only came up
with new ways to store them.
One step at a time. Take it easy nice and slow. I encourage
myself knowing that it would not be easy to part with my things. My
things. Parts of who I am, just like the
five extra kilos I keep within and carry around, failing to let go of. I will have some fun doing it too. No, no,
no. Not the diet. That will come later.
It is only a simple task of cleaning up a cluttered bag, I assure my anxious
self. It would be like a game: I will sit in the middle of the big sofa with
the bag on my lap, just like a new born.
I will put the things I have to keep on my right. Everything else will
go on the left, even if it is used occasionally it will go in the trash. I take
the last sip of earl grey and touch my aching right shoulder to push my
hesitant self forward. From now on I won’t have to carry a heavy bag. Even
more. I will get rid of the huge sack like bags. I will get out my pretty
medium sized bags and start using them. I will change bags every few days
instead of hanging on to a black one that goes with all outfits. If I don’t use
my bags then I will have to get rid of them too. That would be a fit
punishment.
God that hurts! It feels
like delving inside your very soul and grabbing out all the rot. To my right I put the small purse with the
money and ids. Another swollen purse
lies on my lap, refusing to go to the left side. I don’t even remember what is inside it so I get
everything out. Photos of my husband and
children, not one photo each, but a set of six recent photos in case I needed
to apply for something. And many photos of all the stages of their lives. The twins appear in the hospital room in
their pink and blue baby hats, my older son in the kindergarten graduation
uniform, my older daughter holding her favorite Barbie dolls are just a few
examples. My parents appear in a black and white photo by the sea and my young
niece in a lovely red dress when she was six months old. Many other photos keep me smiling for an hour,
bits and pieced of my life. How can I move around without them? I keep them on my lap until I have the courage
to decide if they go to the left. I will
need another session of deep down delving. I postpone the whole task for
another day.
