As the first week of classes comes to a close, I realized tonight just necessary it was to perform some "lite" house cleaning. I couldn't function in the jumbled mess of writing utensils, books, papers, bills, and odds and ends scattered on my desk and practically was killing myself every night trying to exit and enter my room across, over, and under the hurdle of clothes and piles of stuff. So, I avoided the cold and called out sick to the typical Friday night shenanigans, spending an evening inside and closed off in my room to re-coordinate my life.
And even though the utter chaos that was my room could have thrown anyone's Chi off balance ( more like off a cliff, if you ask me) I realized that it represented a great deal about me, each and every little part of it. Every tiny detail has a purpose, represents a small piece of me.
I'm the fairytale inspired framed art above my doorway; In the back of my naive little mind I believe that everyone should get to experience a fairytale, and I secretly wait for that moment.
Look in my book case and you'll not only find leisure books I've held on to for years in hopes to one day have the free time to read them, but old magazines that I've liked, high school yearbooks, and even an empty space for middle school yearbooks that I lent out last summer (and still need to get back!). Check out the bottom shelf, those binders there with class names scribbled out on the spine? Those are filled with dumb awards I won in middle school for things that would muster a chuckle out of any employer nowadays should I add it on my resume. There's hand drawn pictures from friends, old newspaper clippings, a Spanish poem I memorized for a contest, some old report cards, band and theater programs from concerts and shows over the years....I especially liked the $20 gift certificate to a book store that doesn't even exist any more. Some of my favorites are also the copies of old monologues I've had to memorize, the first place ribbon for the 2001 science fair, a school picture of a friend, and an itinerary/rooming assignment for a school funded NYC trip. Of course they're not all good...newspaper clippings from tragic events or deaths, reminders of traumatic times I've been through and family struggles, and personal loss; but they're things to be remembered for better or for worse.
Should you choose to leaf through the other binders, you'll find amateur photography from my B&W photo class, and others filled with writing samples from middle and high school, with random scribbled papers that have been shoved in the front and back pockets over the years.
Right next to those, you'll find what I'm most notorious for...little bags of the past. In 2 zip locked bags shoved in the corner you'll find little nic nacs I've acquired throughout my travels over the years. Why I save some of these things, I still don't have a good answer. Dig through everything and you'll find broadway ticket stubs, subway passes, brochures from places I visited and brochures from places I wanted to visit. There are plane tickets and bus vouchers, a cool drink stirrer, post cards, a napkin from Carnagie Deli (unused of course), city maps, museum entrance coupons, and even a menu from a restaurant. And these are really only the start. Search around and you'll probably find a few more bags of stuff tucked away under my bed with the same random and usless but just as meaningful stuff.
I know many, if not most of the items are probably just taking up space, but I can't seem to part with them. Trust me, I've tried multiple times. Sometimes I'll use the excuse that one day I'll put them into a scrapbook to save. And I probably will...when I'm bored in a nursing home during retirement. Part of me keeps these things around to make sure I never forget. Even years later, every piece I touch, every old piece of writing I read over or every picture I view, the memories bubble up from the depths of memory storage and I get to experience them again.
Take a look at my shelf. Although at first glance, a very random assortment of toys and pictures and cards. But examine everything closely and you'll discover that it might as well be an avant garde representation of my heart. Pictures with some of the best friends I've ever had. A stuffed animal given to me before I left Lyndon from Kelley. A snowglobe with a picture of Jaimie and I. A piece of South African money, a 20 rand bill. Then, tucked in the back are cards I've received from my dad for my birthday and in the spirit packs. They're the reason I love getting the spirit packs, just for the notes. They're always filled with words of love and encouragement, words that aren't usually ever spoken to me. Just little reminders that they're really there, even if only in writing.
I'm everything in these four purple walls. I'm the framed piano photos and random GD pieces tacked to the walls. I'm the stack of baby and childhood photos sitting on my desk of my brother and I and the extensive stash of highlighters piled in the corner of the desk drawer, collected from years of stocking stuffers. I'm the piece of paper from a desktop daily calendar for left handers, ripped out and taped to the wall. God damn it, I'm even the two Blockbuster name tags pinned into my curtains so I don't lose them.
But I think the thing I like the most, is the special little bag I have hidden deep within my room, filled with little notes I've acquired over the years. There are ones on pretty paper and computer paper, and some are even scrawled on lined paper ripped from note books. Some are neatly folded, and some are slightly crumpled. But, each one is always folded back into the way it was originally given to me. Some even still have the original envelope. They're notes from friends, past and present. They're copies of notes I've written to friends or ex-crushes, and ones I've received in return. They are filled with words of encouragement, words of love, words of inspiration. Some of them make me cry, but all of them make me smile and happy inside. They remind me of the amazing people I've had the pleasure of knowing and I'm so lucky to have had them in my life at one point or another.
It's weird sitting here and thinking about how far I've come and how far I have to go; to think about the places I've been, the things I've seen, the experiences I've experienced; to think back over all the things that have happened to me, good and bad. All of these little nic nacs and clippings and saved momentos have all been a part of one event, person, place, thing, experience, or feeling that has shaped me into who I am today. They represent what I cherish, what I've been through, my passions, my hobbies, my strengths, my weaknesses and the people I hold closest to my heart.
So, for better or for worse, I am these momentos. I'm the art on the wall, the collection of assorted souvenirs, the pink and purple tacks on the wall. I'm the random stacks of old photos shoved inbetween books I'll probably never read and hidden in the pages of my journal. I'm the glass full of Coke caps I need to enter for reward points. I'm the handwritten notes, the binders of writing, the sketchbooks full of horrible drawing attempts and verses of poems and lyrics that never made it further than as a random piece of thought. I'm the north wall, the south wall, and everything in between.
Sappy? Most definitely. Pack Rat-ty? For Sure. Sentimental? Of Course.
But, for better or for worse, this chaotic, ecclectic, jumbled, sentimental, disorganized but meaningful mess is.....me.
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