making space, pt. I

My dearest mother never fails to remind me to clean up my closet. Every chance that she gets, and that's mostly when she can't make room for newly pressed clothes in the cabinet, she would tell me, in a very motherly fashion, to sort out my clothes - keep those that I still use and dispose of the rest. I have done that but apparently, I need to throw out some more.

On a similar note, she complains about the rest of my clutter. There are about five or more boxes that contain my personal belongings like books and magazines, DVDs, casette tapes and compact discs, more clothes, stuffed toys, collectibles, old notebooks, review materials, projects, and examination papers that go way back then. Ask a compilation of my Social Science surprise quizzes and I could most likely hand you a stack of 1/4s, arranged chronologically.

What my mother calls junk, I call treasure.

The cassette tapes, my first being Mariah Carey's quintessential album, Butterfly, remind me how much I'm into music and how long I have been inclined to the art. The Smash Hits magazines recollect the glory days of 90s pop which I am lucky to have in my life's soundtrack. The journals and old writings are evidences of my craft despite the quality, or lack thereof, of my earlier works. There is Raccoon, my stuffed toy, who has been on my bedside for as long as I can remember. That is, until we moved out. Old letters put into mind how much I have been valued and cared for by people. My high school memorabilia takes me back to the time when I was king.

I could go on but you already see the picture. I am sentimental and I hold these junk much like how I hold the memories attached to it - close to my heart. Herein lies the problem - I'm not one to easily let go.