When my brother left for China, shortly after graduating from Cal Poly, he did 100 days of less. This meant giving away one thing(or many) every day for 100 days. As my parents weren't thrilled at the idea of his giving the car they gifted him in his late teens away they relented and suggested he give it to our younger cousin. He donated books to friends and family, ridded his life of of most possesions save a few he stored in my parent's garage and set out to explore China with a backpack, a few articles of clothing, and his essential Doctor Bronner's all purpose soap. My parents and I would often revisit the event of my brother taking out the garbage one night only to return with it in his hands, his mind somewhere no one knew. My brohter is brilliant, in the "holy shit how does someone skip first grade?" kind of way. Like he knew the concepts of quantum physics out of our mother's womb. For him to set off to China, with only the shoes on his feet and a plane ticket and a tentative destination is not something any of us fathomed my brother ever doing. The irony perhaps is I was the one in a relationship at the time(albeit in Hawaii, not a bad place to explore) doing the opposite of what I thought I would be doing: like heading to China with only a backpack and my Bronner's soap and a desire to keep moving. Now he's married, to a girl from China, Eva. They've moved back to the States and are in the process of buying a house in Portland. They have a cat named Mango and maybe they'll soon be planning to add their family, to settle in and lead life a little slower, slower than Shenzhen at least. As for me, I've since been out of the aforementioned relationship, moved to Utah, been in another, finished school, and now here I sit crosslegged in a full apartment, with things all around me. I've done this before, been here before. Given away or sold most of my belongings, again save those few boxes still stored at my parent's place in California, and packed only a suitcase for my next destination. I don't know what it is about this time around. I just sold a massage table to a couple from Ogden. I've gone through clothes that I never wear. I'm staring at a mosaic I never finished. Looking at stacks of books on the bedroom floor. I am stagnant and nostalgic, I don't want to keep these things. I want to toss them all in the trash or give them to someone more desirous, but I'm staring at these items as if they are what holds memories themselves. And I suppose they do, to some extent, containing the ability to trigger my related emotions more readily. The red envelope my brother gave me for my birthday, handmade it China, when he visited Utah two Marchs ago. Or the picture of a tree and its falling leaves Sierra and I painted one night she stayed over while her Mom was out of town. Or the guitar I attempted to strum a few times, but never learned to play. My snowshoes sit bright red on the floor. The plants I've struggled to keep alive hang limply in the window. I'll keep looking around, remembering, forgetting, remembering, I'll toss more things, give away others, and yet I know the things I'll take with me do not exist in this room right now. I want to keep moving. I don't want to forget where I've been.
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