Junk

We spent the latter part of a Saturday scrounging around thrift-shops. The biggest one I've been to so far was named Junk & Disorderly in a Northcote warehouse. Fashion types clad in tight weekend sweats fingered distressed furniture & heirloom lamps with ornate crystal bases and shorn tops. Families- usually composed of a couple and a toddler had that look that suggested they weren't certain of anything, but that maybe, going through this flotsam and jetsam of stuff, an object or two would give them a clue, a hint.

As for me, I was just looking. I must admit to being over-sentimental, but it didn't hinge on objects, on stuff.

My mom said that after she and dad got married and made the decision to live in Binmaley, my grandfather was taken aback at my dad's lack of possessions; all he brought to Naguilayan was a cabinet and it wasn't even a good one, unusual for someone who lived in a veritable mansion, a prominent family home filled with heirlooms. He didn't even bring his paintings because it seemed that this chapter of his life with my mother was a new one.

Maybe I'm the same. Maybe I haven't settled yet. Maybe every year is a new chapter marked by transitory items such as summer sneakers and winter coats. Maybe I feel that we should only remember significant parts of the past and the rest of it can be forgotten. Maybe I don't want to be burdened with the weight of stuff that in the end, are just stuff.

In the end, I want to be more than that...