Chaff and grain
Right now my room is normal-looking, i.e. a manageable state of mess. I gathered up all the clutter and arranged them all into neat piles. That's how I arrange my room: gather, and then sort them later on into useful stuff or trash.
Unlike other members of my household who hesitate before throwing stuff, I gain a certain degree of pleasure in throwing things out. And unlike in real life, I tend to let go of physical things quite easily. My mantra is quite simple: I hold on to these objects' actual value, their memories--not their physical being (I sound so philo here), and I take comfort also in the fact that after using them well, I am ready to throw them out to create more space in my room.
Which I have to do soon. My closet is bursting with books, clothes, and papers, every time I open it the wrong, way, papers come tumbling out and I find myself highly distressed (and quite bruised, because that's quite a ton of paper we're talking about).
Next week I'll be eliminating said ton of paperwork, which consist of roughly a good 25% of my closet space (the rest is evenly split between clothes and books. Yes, my bookcases are so full I resort to putting new titles in my closet huhuhuhu). These are all my college paperwork since second year, which I have dutifully tied and labelled per semester year after year, thinking I would be finding some use for it in higher college subjects. I never did.
My freshmen papers, if you are wondering, got flooded by Ondoy and I naturally threw them out already. I think the only relevant piece of paper I have from 2007-2008 is a tattered piece of pad paper containing my handwritten miting de avance speech that I delivered when I ran (and lost) for college representative.
Barring those papers (which stand almost a foot tall when altogether combined) that will be heading toward the recycling bin, my room looks neat (IMO, to my mom that doesn't count though) and ready for another semester.
Except, of course, that I'm not.
Unlike other members of my household who hesitate before throwing stuff, I gain a certain degree of pleasure in throwing things out. And unlike in real life, I tend to let go of physical things quite easily. My mantra is quite simple: I hold on to these objects' actual value, their memories--not their physical being (I sound so philo here), and I take comfort also in the fact that after using them well, I am ready to throw them out to create more space in my room.
Which I have to do soon. My closet is bursting with books, clothes, and papers, every time I open it the wrong, way, papers come tumbling out and I find myself highly distressed (and quite bruised, because that's quite a ton of paper we're talking about).
Next week I'll be eliminating said ton of paperwork, which consist of roughly a good 25% of my closet space (the rest is evenly split between clothes and books. Yes, my bookcases are so full I resort to putting new titles in my closet huhuhuhu). These are all my college paperwork since second year, which I have dutifully tied and labelled per semester year after year, thinking I would be finding some use for it in higher college subjects. I never did.
My freshmen papers, if you are wondering, got flooded by Ondoy and I naturally threw them out already. I think the only relevant piece of paper I have from 2007-2008 is a tattered piece of pad paper containing my handwritten miting de avance speech that I delivered when I ran (and lost) for college representative.
Barring those papers (which stand almost a foot tall when altogether combined) that will be heading toward the recycling bin, my room looks neat (IMO, to my mom that doesn't count though) and ready for another semester.
Except, of course, that I'm not.