Choosing What to Keep

I leave Taiwan very, very soon. This fact dictates my entire existence right now; every moment of my day which is not spent preparing directly for this event is spent in the knowledge that it probably should be. There's no longer any question of denial: it is what it is, and it's time I face facts. I'm going home. Soon.

I mentioned a few days ago that my packing process involves an awful lot of throwing stuff out. If you know me, you know that that is absolutely, 100% not in my nature. I'm not saying I'm a pack rat or anything, but actually I totally am a pack rat. Just look--no, just kidding, please don't look--in my childhood bedroom closet. There (and in the attic, since my room has been repurposed a few times since I moved out) you will find an archival record of my life, told through physical artifacts. My favorite toy from when I was 8, a cool art project from when I was 12, my high school English papers--they're all there, if you just look.

But here's the thing--I almost never do. Because, at the end of the day, there's rarely a reason to look back and see exactly what it is that I wrote about Catch-22 in that one paper, or exactly what my handwriting looked like when I was 5. It may be nice to have a few indicators of the different stages in life, sure, but ultimately the stuff that crowds the upper shelves of my closet is just that: stuff that crowds my closet. And, in some instances, my suitcase.

Having an imposed weight limit (set not just by the airlines, but by my budgetary rejection of excess baggage fees) has been hugely helpful in helping me see my pack rat tendencies for what they are: an unnecessary reliance on things to describe my experiences. I'm not saying I'm going to go through and trash what I have, but going forward, it's immensely freeing to be able to look at a pile of Chinese writing I've done, or my favorite bag since freshman year of college (the zipper of which recently broke, and which is otherwise well-loved throughout), or first-ever Fulbright name tag with "百合" printed on it, and realize that they belong in the trash, and that putting them there does nothing to dampen my memories.

My trash can is overflowing with such realizations.

And it doesn't bother me, not in the slightest, because of all the things that will come home with me--all the intangibles, which fortunately don't weigh in at the airport, since if they did I don't think my life savings would begin to put a dent in those fees. Choosing what to keep is easy when you realize you don't even have a choice on the important stuff.

Stuff like meeting Karina and her friend Satomi for shave ice (which I didn't end up getting to eat), and realizing that I now know Kaohsiung well enough to navigate on autopilot. And like being taken out to dinner by Alison, Maggie, Fiona and Patty, who took me to a Thai restaurant because it's my favorite, and who dared to brave spiciness beyond their comfort level to do so. And like getting waffles with Rachel and Chialing, despite being still full from dinner, just so we could have another little bit to sit around a picture-laminated table and take silly photos of Chialing's nephew's dog.

This is what I'm taking home; this is what matters:

As for the rest--no need to add to my rat's nest.