i'm not sure why I'm writing about this on a public blog.
I was having a conversation recently about how the whole adage to "live like today's your last" is an incredibly peabrained and irresponsible idea. In fact, people who're told that it is their last days, and later find out that it isn't, have sued doctors for false expectations. Because it's a nice idea to live free from fear of consequences, but the fact is that consequences are the glue that hold society together. Without them, we'd erupt into total anarchy. Since most people do live in fear of consequences, the person who goes through life not doing so very often ends up facing prison or eventual death. Because a less pretty term for it is "self destructive behaviour".
But I think that's sort of what I've been doing for the past couple of years.
Six or seven years ago, we moved house for the first time since I was 5. Obviously when I was 5, I had nothing to do with the moving process; all I remember was an enormous box (that, thinking about it now, could easily hold two corpses) that sat in the living room, from which my mom would occasionally extract several bowls wrapped in newspaper. This time around though, I had my entire life's belongings to pack (granted, it was a rather short life). Because king's drive was intended to be temporary from the very beginning, we never really unpacked in the two years that we were there, and the primary resident of the basement was our battalion of cardboard boxes. By the time we moved back, I had just 9 months before I was going to head off here, and most of my non-essential boxes were left unpacked.
Since then, the packing intervals have been reduced to 4 month periods.(By then end of my first semester at smith, I knew that I was going to get out of there.) Moreover, going from place to place meant that I had to buy things bearing in mind that I'd have to junk it in a very short while. Example: I never bought sugar when I was in Paris because I knew I wouldn't be able to finish the massive packets in 4 months; so I just cooked or drank without it. Sometimes to rather interesting effects. Also, because I'm always limited by baggage allowance, I only carry essentials with me.
Packing, though, inevitably entails throwing away stuff, and I do constant mini-packings, pruning away anything that takes up more space than it's worth. Some people believe in having using valuable things sparingly, I have cheap things that I use mercilessly and then junk when it's beyond salvation. (Rather parasitic and, come to think of it, entirely against the whole environmentalist creed).In some way, I think that's shaped the way I treat life too, psychobabblish as that sounds. I've come to view people as transient, because I know that soon our ways will diverge, and I'll probably never see them again. Everything ends eventually.
But for the first time in quite a while, I'm going to be in the same place for at least a year and a half. If I get into Columbia, I might be here for the next half a decade. That's longer than I've spent living anywhere since I was 14. I have stuff now, stuff that I don't want to think about having to pack when I have to move again. For the first time in a while, I don't have qualms about every single thing I buy, like a book or a pot or a table cloth, because packing those things is for future Kass to worry about, not me. It still bothers me from time to time though, and I get sudden intense urges to pack and throw away things (my closet still needs organizing) because I just have too many things. Also, I keep telling myself to not get too attached to these things. I've invested so much time and effort into planning and decorating this apartment, and I love my cosy little studio, and the longer I stay here, the more nested I get. But though these things may have been bought with a view to a longer lifespan than my previous things, but they are still intended for ultimate junking at some point in the not so distant future. (The apartment is going to get unbearably hot soon, but getting an aircon doesn't make financial sense for just me). Because the sad truth is that I'll have to leave one day, things will be up in boxes again, and most of it will be sold or thrown away. So I really should enjoy it while I'm here, but remain aloof, and be prepared for eventuality. Constant vigilance.
But I think that's sort of what I've been doing for the past couple of years.
Six or seven years ago, we moved house for the first time since I was 5. Obviously when I was 5, I had nothing to do with the moving process; all I remember was an enormous box (that, thinking about it now, could easily hold two corpses) that sat in the living room, from which my mom would occasionally extract several bowls wrapped in newspaper. This time around though, I had my entire life's belongings to pack (granted, it was a rather short life). Because king's drive was intended to be temporary from the very beginning, we never really unpacked in the two years that we were there, and the primary resident of the basement was our battalion of cardboard boxes. By the time we moved back, I had just 9 months before I was going to head off here, and most of my non-essential boxes were left unpacked.
Since then, the packing intervals have been reduced to 4 month periods.(By then end of my first semester at smith, I knew that I was going to get out of there.) Moreover, going from place to place meant that I had to buy things bearing in mind that I'd have to junk it in a very short while. Example: I never bought sugar when I was in Paris because I knew I wouldn't be able to finish the massive packets in 4 months; so I just cooked or drank without it. Sometimes to rather interesting effects. Also, because I'm always limited by baggage allowance, I only carry essentials with me.
Packing, though, inevitably entails throwing away stuff, and I do constant mini-packings, pruning away anything that takes up more space than it's worth. Some people believe in having using valuable things sparingly, I have cheap things that I use mercilessly and then junk when it's beyond salvation. (Rather parasitic and, come to think of it, entirely against the whole environmentalist creed).In some way, I think that's shaped the way I treat life too, psychobabblish as that sounds. I've come to view people as transient, because I know that soon our ways will diverge, and I'll probably never see them again. Everything ends eventually.
But for the first time in quite a while, I'm going to be in the same place for at least a year and a half. If I get into Columbia, I might be here for the next half a decade. That's longer than I've spent living anywhere since I was 14. I have stuff now, stuff that I don't want to think about having to pack when I have to move again. For the first time in a while, I don't have qualms about every single thing I buy, like a book or a pot or a table cloth, because packing those things is for future Kass to worry about, not me. It still bothers me from time to time though, and I get sudden intense urges to pack and throw away things (my closet still needs organizing) because I just have too many things. Also, I keep telling myself to not get too attached to these things. I've invested so much time and effort into planning and decorating this apartment, and I love my cosy little studio, and the longer I stay here, the more nested I get. But though these things may have been bought with a view to a longer lifespan than my previous things, but they are still intended for ultimate junking at some point in the not so distant future. (The apartment is going to get unbearably hot soon, but getting an aircon doesn't make financial sense for just me). Because the sad truth is that I'll have to leave one day, things will be up in boxes again, and most of it will be sold or thrown away. So I really should enjoy it while I'm here, but remain aloof, and be prepared for eventuality. Constant vigilance.