Moving, moving, moving. Moving is never just moving. Moving is so much more than grabbing a bunch of things and throwing them in boxes. It is an emotional event. I sit there sorting through things, forced to decide what stays and what needs to go, forced to put value on material objects. It's easy if the value were based solely on things like age, make, material, demand but then there's the sentimental element. And that outweighs all other bases of appraisal. It's a tough deal. And then you're forced to look at your own life contemplate what value these material objects add to your life. Or if they've just become a collection of possessions that make moving way more complicated than it's supposed to be.
As I sort through the stacks of papers and piles of junk, I see pieces of my life being kept and some thrown away. Memories-precious and of course the painful ones scattered across the floor. Even a piece of hair might remind me of someone special or that receipt might trigger the memory of the time I was arrested on my 21st birthday or even the very ordinary day when I had an amazing conversation.
I found a card from my mom given to me the day of my grandmothers funeral-the outside envelope reads "David Kim from Grandmother's Gift", the card is one from the memorial service with a bible verse printed on the inside that begins "Dear friend," but with "friend" crossed out and replaced by "David Kim" and on the top right corner "October 2006"-three one hundred dollar bills folded inside. My mom had obviously made those adjustments but it felt like my grandmother had...I mean that was her style; simple phrases in limited English. And for the first time I felt a sadness I hadn't felt before.