Journeys
Keeping things and letting them go
I just came back, fresh from a 2-day expedition in a jungle that is my old bedroom. For over a year now, it has been a storage room of sort, cramped with boxes containing assorted knick-knacks from journeys taken and days gone by, piles of old magazines and papeles, and clothing and accessories whose chances of revivification are highly suspect. I thought I needed to sort out the stuff I have managed to accumulate over the years and do the necessary purging of some bric-a-brac that gather dust and provide potential havens for vermin. If nothing else, I wanted to get rid of the fire hazard.
I was at first hesitant to spend two days of my life rummaging through things that have become somewhat irrelevant to my life, but, armed with rags and hand sanitizer, I decided to proceed anyway.
On the first day, I opened cave-like closets and drawers containing garments that I had been keeping in storage since months and years ago. With them were bags and shoes in good condition. Scenes from when I used them-- a wedding in one of the beautiful churches, a school activity in high school (Colegio de San Jose, founded 1872), a family gathering in one of the hotels in the City, island-hopping in Concepcion, spelunking in Dingle, etc.-- started to play as a slideshow in my mind. But I knew I will never use them again. With the help of Annabel, our helper and my co-navigator in my man-made wilderness, I hauled the items out and labeled them as to who could possibly put them into better use.
On the second day, I traversed through the piles and opened the boxes. In them were old photos I thought I had lost forever, memorabilia from various events, ranging from those of worldwide importance like the World Youth Day of 1995 that I attended when I was thirteen, to those that are only relevant to me or a few people, such as tickets to amusement parks during an outing with friends. I even found a small box containing unpolished quartz-- a semi-precious stone picked up during a precious walk along the coast of San Joaquin.
I have accumulated so much stuff that represent just as much. While I decided to hold on to some, I let go of most. I figured they were items I could and should continue journeying without. Each of them has enriched my experiences and I am thankful. In journeys, one does not merely gather, but also shares so that the joy given by the things imparted lives on in others.
If at the beginning of my “expedition” the items seemed no longer related to me, I found out otherwise towards the end. This time, their value rests no longer on their original utility but on their capacity to, once in a while, remind me of the good and bad events in my life. These items signify the sub-plots in my story. They remind me of the turns I’ve taken, road signs I’ve heeded and violated, and lessons I’ve learned and unlearned in this scenic, amazing and, now, lighter journey.