For the past four years at around this time in March, I have had to start thinking about the issue of storage. Because I live in Hong Kong but went to boarding school in Massachusetts, I had to find somewhere to store my things over the summer. This meant packing away all my bedding, winter clothing and shoes, stationery, books, you get the gist.
It was a hassle. First I had to decide between UPS, the over-priced chain, or a local storage unit, the cheaper option that came with the risk of damage. Next was the actual act of packing up all of my belongings, which usually ended up with me living out of my boxes during finals week. Obviously, I thoroughly enjoyed the groutfits and the inability to find that one thing I suddenly really needed but had already packed away.
The first summer I put everything into storage I had six boxes, a big plastic bin that fit under my bed, and a guitar. When I came to college this year, I had four boxes and a big plastic bin. The way I did that was periodically going through all my belongings and throwing out or donating whatever I didn't need. This ranged from clothing to accessories to books and even pillows (my mom wasn't too pleased about that one).
It sounds absurd but I hated having so many things. In fact, I was adamant about not having stuff. This was because I considered my lifestyle a mobile one; therefore I felt that to have too many things would physically and metaphorically weigh me down.
Next year, I am moving off campus into an apartment. When I get there, I know I'll want to furnish it with my stuff, but the issue is I don't have a lot of stuff. I don't have piles of cute pictures with friends (I lost a ton of those when I spilled coffee on my computer, sad I know). No hipster twinkle lights or picture frames. I don't have the inappropriate book my friends bought me for Christmas one year. I either gave away or threw away the t-shirts I was given for fun events at boarding school.
When my grandfather passed away I didn't get to go pack up his things but when I visited his home this past summer I noticed that almost any trace of him had been wiped. His clothes were gone. The pack of cigarettes he would leave on the table were gone. The only thing that was left was his favorite drinking canteen that my grandmother now uses. I think she kept the canteen because even the decades worth of memories of him can sometimes feel hollow without a physical manifestation of that memory, even if its a canteen.
I had always thought that if I really cherished a memory, I wouldn't need an object to remember it by. In a lot of ways, I still see that as true. But seeing my grandmother use that canteen makes me think of how having stuff isn't necessarily bad if they are things that are valuable, not just necessary.
I think this might be the reason I'm not dreading packing my things as much this year. Obviously, I'm going to hate living out of boxes, not being able to find anything, and trying to get all my stuff from the 11th floor to the ground floor. But unlike boarding school, being in Boston and going to college feels more permanent. There is a set date when I leave BU, but not one for when I leave Boston. So hopefully I'll leave college with more than just four boxes and a plastic bin.
