I’m a hoarder. I’ll just fucking admit it. Just don’t go assuming I’m like one of those hoarders on TLC who has saved all their own hair and trash or something, for like 35 years. I’m a memory hoarder. Totally different.
I packed my suitcase for a two week trip to California. Inside were things I wanted to bring home from my time abroad in Korea. I filled two suitcases with memories. Notes students had written me, art pieces made by friends, and stuffed creatures acquired from games we had played on vacation were all important but there were also lots of things I didn’t need. One ugly blue shirt I had never worn, but had ALMOST worn in a run. It says Korea on it! MEMORIES! Books I loved reading, but would never read again. MEMORIES OF THE TIME WHEN I READ THAT BOOK! I’ll tell you now, when it all added up, those were some damn heavy memories.
I got home and found my closet full to the brim of clothes I’d worn in high school. It’s probably not neccessary to keep every dress I’ve worn to homecoming and prom. I mean really, am I going to be asked to a prom by a high school boy ever again? It’s likely, seeing as I appeal to younger men, according to all the Facebook requests I get from my brother’s friends, and look about 18 years old, according to the woman at Target who asked me if I was getting ready to go off to college. Did I need to be keeping the secret notes my friends passed me in middle school full of codes that I no longer understood? Probably not, but it’s sure fun to read them and reminicse over the days when my biggest problems were if my crush liked me and if I should bring my Aqua CD to the next sleep-over. I know I’ll never get rid of my heart shaped box containing silly and sweet love notes from my high school years. First of all, they are adorable in their naiviety and secondly, they are total relics in this day and age of Facebook messages and texting.
“Hey grl, r u around? I’m cming over.”
Yeah, I’m not keeping that shit in a box in my closet.
Seeing a closet full of such useless junk that I’d kept only because I-wore-that-shirt-that-one-wonderful-day-and-I-used-that-ribbon-in-a play caused a moment of clarity. These were just things and the moments they held were gone forever. There was no point in keeping them. I felt a weight off my back and I gleefully grabbed a bag and chucked in almost everything in my closet. My room was wonderfully free of the past.
Now I am back in Korea and starting to clean out my apartment for the big move to Spain. I got a huge trash bag and a few times, I would pick something up and stare at for a minute, trying to decide if its memories were worth the weight in my bag. 4 times out of 5, they were not. All the amazing memories I’ve had in Korea are a part of me and I don’t need broken bracelets friends gave me, an old Halloween costume, or random brochures from my Korean adventures to remind me. As for the bad memories, in the mental and physical trash bag they go. The airline only allows 25kg and I don’t have room…