When I moved in on the three places I’ve lived in for the past three years, my stuff were inside multiple four-cornered things we call boxes. I opened those boxes three times on those three instances to move them on either one of two bigger boxes we call a condo unit or a room. My stuff were used and placed back ad infinitum thus making me and my things share memories with the people my stuff “interacted with”. Each and every time those things were used, they became more and more different from the way they were from the time they were first taken out of the box. They physically changed due to wear and tear, on monetary terms they depreciated, while their sentimental value appreciated.
When it was time to move out, I placed them on boxes for them to be easily shipped out. The first time I moved out, I realized that all of the memories, no matter how euphoric or tragic, big or small, can only fit inside those small four-cornered spaces.
We then all live in boxes.
The last time I moved out was a major pain in the fucking ass. Once I got home, I postponed opening the boxes for fear of letting all of the evils of the past fly out. Kind of like opening Pandora’s box. Time came that I actually HAD to open them just as I expected, my senses failed me. As if seeing them wasn’t torture enough, the smell immediately had my mind whirling. I had flashbacks, both good and bad. If I had to recollect the feelings and moods I had in the past, it’ll definitely be through smell and music. Instinctively, I took the clothes out, threw them in the laundry and had them washed. I remembered I HAVE to keep walking. I HAVE TO. Fighting the tears, I opened another box and threw away the little things that I can afford to let go of, even if I knew I’d be needing them in the future, thinking that that’s just money being thrown away. Something I can earn again. If that’s the price I’d have to pay for me to be able to move on, then so be it. Thinking that I have thrown so much stuff enough, I safely tucked them away inside smaller boxes. “Clean” and ready for a brand new start. Or so I thought.
A while ago I had to open some of the boxes again to find something I needed to use. Alas, even if the smell wasn’t there, the mere presence of those things that were left inside made me feel the exact same way I felt the first time I opened them. That made me realize something else.
The memories we had in the past are more like scars and surgeries.
When we feel there’s something wrong in our body that the usual medication cannot fix, a surgeon comes in to correct it. They cut us up, take away the bad things, stuff we can live without, stitch us back up once that’s done, and we supposedly move on happily with our lives. Even if the surgery doesn’t leave a scar on the skin’s surface, it’s possible that we still have a scar inside us. One that not any advanced technology can erase, or if it can, a different scar is still forever etched somewhere, at one small corner of our brain perhaps that once triggered will open up memories of all the evils that were once there and all we have to do is try to close the box, move on, and trust that, like Pandora’s box, we will still be left with something. HOPE. Hope that despite everything, the sun will still shine on us. And there will come a time where we’d get so used to it that when that small corner gets triggered again, we can smile and thank our lucky stars because we’re still standing.
At this point, I’m still hoping.
When it was time to move out, I placed them on boxes for them to be easily shipped out. The first time I moved out, I realized that all of the memories, no matter how euphoric or tragic, big or small, can only fit inside those small four-cornered spaces.
We then all live in boxes.
The last time I moved out was a major pain in the fucking ass. Once I got home, I postponed opening the boxes for fear of letting all of the evils of the past fly out. Kind of like opening Pandora’s box. Time came that I actually HAD to open them just as I expected, my senses failed me. As if seeing them wasn’t torture enough, the smell immediately had my mind whirling. I had flashbacks, both good and bad. If I had to recollect the feelings and moods I had in the past, it’ll definitely be through smell and music. Instinctively, I took the clothes out, threw them in the laundry and had them washed. I remembered I HAVE to keep walking. I HAVE TO. Fighting the tears, I opened another box and threw away the little things that I can afford to let go of, even if I knew I’d be needing them in the future, thinking that that’s just money being thrown away. Something I can earn again. If that’s the price I’d have to pay for me to be able to move on, then so be it. Thinking that I have thrown so much stuff enough, I safely tucked them away inside smaller boxes. “Clean” and ready for a brand new start. Or so I thought.
A while ago I had to open some of the boxes again to find something I needed to use. Alas, even if the smell wasn’t there, the mere presence of those things that were left inside made me feel the exact same way I felt the first time I opened them. That made me realize something else.
The memories we had in the past are more like scars and surgeries.
When we feel there’s something wrong in our body that the usual medication cannot fix, a surgeon comes in to correct it. They cut us up, take away the bad things, stuff we can live without, stitch us back up once that’s done, and we supposedly move on happily with our lives. Even if the surgery doesn’t leave a scar on the skin’s surface, it’s possible that we still have a scar inside us. One that not any advanced technology can erase, or if it can, a different scar is still forever etched somewhere, at one small corner of our brain perhaps that once triggered will open up memories of all the evils that were once there and all we have to do is try to close the box, move on, and trust that, like Pandora’s box, we will still be left with something. HOPE. Hope that despite everything, the sun will still shine on us. And there will come a time where we’d get so used to it that when that small corner gets triggered again, we can smile and thank our lucky stars because we’re still standing.
At this point, I’m still hoping.
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