what it means to let go

I’m writing this as we speak, with stacks of academic memorabilia around me. I wish I were joking.

I’m really lucky to be able to have enough space in my house to even store all these documents from every year of my high school and college years. I’m sure other people would have wished the same, but may have already disposed of or lost them for one reason or another. At the same time, I wonder if there’s any point to holding on to all this stuff. I think about the time or a day when I’ll finally be able to sit down and take a long, hard look at the past and reflect on all the things that I’ve accomplished. But when?

Looking back at yearbooks and assignments, the things that once had so much importance are no longer there—homework assignments with varying degrees of percentage, notes and doodles that I no longer remember who made them, and the people you thought would still be your friends to this day are just remnants in photographs. It’s a bit jarring to see how much I still have not figured out. I was doing the best I could during that time in my life. In the same way, I’m doing the best I can right now, figuring out things and learning as I go.

But then I start to remember why I’m looking through all this stuff in the first place: I have to throw some of this away. It’s taking up way too much space. My chest tightens, and I start to zone out at the thought of it. Even though I know time has passed, it feels hard to release the essence of sentimentality, even the things that remind me of some pretty awkward and tough moments. A report card I hid because of disappointment. Photos with people in the past that I no longer talk to. Event flyers from prom and graduation reminded me of the good times, but also times when I struggled to fit in. 

–

I wonder if this is just something passed down from generation to generation—the hoarding habit. Sometimes, I complain about the absurdity of my mom stockpiling and buying so much food. But what else can she do? What other life does she know? To have everything taken away from you and to have to split food between family members is obviously worse than having a room stacked with food from floor to ceiling; it’s a luxury. 

But you’re safe now, I want to say. You don’t have to worry anymore. But what if? What if the prices go up? What if there is an emergency? The fears come back, and my reassurance doesn’t mean much.

Minimalism is a concept that is mostly attractive within affluent societies, because everything is in excess and easy to obtain. Minimalism only works when you don’t have to worry about your world changing overnight, or government and political upheaval, or food shortages, or environmental disaster.

What good is design and aesthetics if you’re hungry?

–

I opened up my red notebook, which my friend gifted me in my first year of university. I read a journal entry from 2020, back when I was navigating the pandemic, talking to professors, playing board games with housemates, and worrying about hearing back from internships. Would I want to go back to that time? I don’t think I would; I think I’ve grown so much from back then. But to be back in that apartment one more time, watching my roommate play Splatoon on the couch, hearing the clatter of pots and pans in the kitchen, the smell of a lighted candle, and a housemate’s cooking in the air. That’s what I miss.

I start sorting documents into two piles, one to throw away and one to keep. Going through the stack of papers, decision fatigue starts to set in. What should stay and what should go? I’m afraid of changing my mind and throwing everything back into the box and shoving it into its same corner in the garage, just to open it back up in a few years and repeat the cycle all over again.

I am afraid that one day, I will look back and regret throwing these papers away. But what good is the memorabilia if you never look at them? What good is the stockpile of canned food that is now four years expired? They are no longer of use, and that’s okay.

From "Goodbye, Things" by Fumio Sasaki

These things were important in my life at one point, and at the same time, they have served their purpose. It definitely doesn’t make disposing of them any easier, but I’m taking baby steps. I start by shredding a sheet of high school homework I have long forgotten.