Lately I have been sorting, storing, throwing and giving away stuff. Clothes, bags, shoes. De-cluttering is what they call it. The Japanese have a system I think, where they say to keep only the things you love and the rest you discard.
Growing up we did the same. Lived out of boxes since the houses (if we were fortunate to be allotted one) were bare shells with no cupboards, leave alone anything else. My father’s income, or lack of it 😊 and the fact that we moved so often left us with no option or ability to purchase furniture of any kind. So whatever we had, moved with us. Over the countless transfers we made across the state and in different parts of the north-east, the few treasured possessions we did have, tended to get broken or lost somewhere in transit.
Now much later, almost as if to make up for lost time and lost possessions, I seem to have flipped to the extreme end, collecting all kinds of what have yous, most of them totally unnecessary. I am now faced with a house that looks something between a tornado hit or a miniature implosion of sorts. Hence the cleaning up exercise.
So often too we carry with us boxes, invisible, yes, but burdened all the same. Guilt and shame, anger, remorse and regret. Of opportunities gone by and of slights imagined and real. We carry the weight of work, its pressures and deadlines, reassuring ourselves we are doing it for the greater good. We shoulder responsibilities and everyday chores like a badge that must be borne with pride. And we trudge on, our backs and our minds and souls, bent over with appointments, meetings, doctor visits, grocery lists and the what to cook for dinner thoughts.
In essence, we have allowed ourselves to be caught up in what we term the daily living and yet we could not be further from the truth. All of what I have just described is necessary and yes central perhaps to all that we do. But in so doing, we have forgotten what it is to live.
So looking back and reminiscing, I am reminded of my parents, my father and how they live, lived their lives. So even though I share a picture of him doing what he did and loved best, it did not in the end, define him and his life here with us.
He was the first Kuki IPS officer, setting the way for others but I do not think I ever heard him say that about himself. For us, the one single memory that stands out is of him listening to his choice of songs, as loud as possible! Much to mum’s despair and the assault upon our ears… 😊
I think though that in the process all of us learnt the lyrics of almost every song, considering he would play them over and over again...
"You picked a fine time to leave me, Lucille
With four hungry children and a crop in the field
I've had some bad times, lived through some sad times
But this time your hurting won't heal
You picked a fine time to leave me, Lucille"
(I swear I can sing that in my sleep!)
So back to boxes and to life. I am still getting rid of stuff. And somewhere along the way I guess I need to just let go too. The earth will not stop still for a load of laundry that isn’t done or for the pile of clothes that need to be kept away (I can hear my children cheering already).
That though is the key. The world does not stop. But we need to.
Just breathe. And live. It is going to be okay.
Growing up we did the same. Lived out of boxes since the houses (if we were fortunate to be allotted one) were bare shells with no cupboards, leave alone anything else. My father’s income, or lack of it 😊 and the fact that we moved so often left us with no option or ability to purchase furniture of any kind. So whatever we had, moved with us. Over the countless transfers we made across the state and in different parts of the north-east, the few treasured possessions we did have, tended to get broken or lost somewhere in transit.
Now much later, almost as if to make up for lost time and lost possessions, I seem to have flipped to the extreme end, collecting all kinds of what have yous, most of them totally unnecessary. I am now faced with a house that looks something between a tornado hit or a miniature implosion of sorts. Hence the cleaning up exercise.
So often too we carry with us boxes, invisible, yes, but burdened all the same. Guilt and shame, anger, remorse and regret. Of opportunities gone by and of slights imagined and real. We carry the weight of work, its pressures and deadlines, reassuring ourselves we are doing it for the greater good. We shoulder responsibilities and everyday chores like a badge that must be borne with pride. And we trudge on, our backs and our minds and souls, bent over with appointments, meetings, doctor visits, grocery lists and the what to cook for dinner thoughts.
In essence, we have allowed ourselves to be caught up in what we term the daily living and yet we could not be further from the truth. All of what I have just described is necessary and yes central perhaps to all that we do. But in so doing, we have forgotten what it is to live.
So looking back and reminiscing, I am reminded of my parents, my father and how they live, lived their lives. So even though I share a picture of him doing what he did and loved best, it did not in the end, define him and his life here with us.
He was the first Kuki IPS officer, setting the way for others but I do not think I ever heard him say that about himself. For us, the one single memory that stands out is of him listening to his choice of songs, as loud as possible! Much to mum’s despair and the assault upon our ears… 😊
I think though that in the process all of us learnt the lyrics of almost every song, considering he would play them over and over again...
"You picked a fine time to leave me, Lucille
With four hungry children and a crop in the field
I've had some bad times, lived through some sad times
But this time your hurting won't heal
You picked a fine time to leave me, Lucille"
(I swear I can sing that in my sleep!)
So back to boxes and to life. I am still getting rid of stuff. And somewhere along the way I guess I need to just let go too. The earth will not stop still for a load of laundry that isn’t done or for the pile of clothes that need to be kept away (I can hear my children cheering already).
That though is the key. The world does not stop. But we need to.
Just breathe. And live. It is going to be okay.
Regret
I am beset
Guilt
The shame!
The burden
Yet
Regret
The boxes
Blame
Despair
Dare I
Forget?
Regret?
Today?
Yet
Seldom felt
Too soon
Too swift
Bereft.
~ Judith Vaddi
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