This is why I hate packing: In the last four years, I have become a prominent fixture on the local garage sale scene. Have a broken toaster, or maybe a printer that dates back to the middle ages? No problem, I am sure I will find a way to put it to good use. As a result, I have accumulated all kind of junk, some whose history I can’t even recall. When I say junk, I am referring to the kind of pieces of metal and plastic that most people probably won’t give a second look, but for some reason I find so appealing that I have to bring them home with me. Now my junk loving ways are rewarding me with a mighty headache, as I try to figure out what to keep and what to discard. Unlike previous times when I could just throw all the junk in boxes and take it with me to my new apartment, this time round, I am not so lucky as I find myself having to move into a university apartment, with limited space.
But the whole process has not been devoid of fun, and an occasional moment of nostalgia. Yesterday, for example, I came across this journal that goes back to my freshman year of college and I spent an hour reminiscing those days of innocence. I realized that, in a good or bad way, depending on whom you ask, my core values have not changed much. I think that over the years though, I have become more cynical of life and less of the idealist that I once was.
3 months ago