Moving Out

I've lived with my parents for nearly 19 years. My childhood home is rich with loving memories, nostalgic smells and unfortunately quite a bit of dust. My materialistic behaviours have made me an unwilling servant to capitalism, no matter how many times I buy 'Eat the Rich' stickers off of Amazon. My father and I both share the tenacity for collecting stuff. Myself favouring nerd culture and my father with a hobby for old books and war replicas. We both fill our personal spaces with memorials to our passions, decorating shelves and cupboards with nick-knacks and memories. But as I am moving out this year to head off to university, I need to pack all of my possessions into my 2012 Volkswagen polo. A relatively small car; that I bought second hand, designed for zipping place to place in the city. Not really designed for hauling my original trilogy Luke Skywalker shrine across outback Australia, nor any sort of journey set in a fiery dust ball. And unlike Luke Skywalker I can't hire a dashing rouge played by Harrison ford to sweep me off to other planets with nothing but the clothes on my back. This is more of a do-it-yourself kind of mission.

I have designated two large boxes that will barely be able to sit in the backseat of my car, to be filled with all of my hoards. But letting go has become inexplicably hard. I’ve found myself pulling things out of the back of closets that I forgot I have, but can’t seem to let go of. My collection of Wallace and Gromit VHS tapes, most of which were my fathers before he married my Mom. I was raised to these reels of film; which if I keep, will sit unwatched for the rest of eternity due to my lack of VCR. I sat there holding that cheap plastic, nearly prehistoric, tapes for nearly an hour before hiding them back in the closet. I have found myself mulling over my Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles action figures and my vintage Hot Wheels collection debating which ones have fonder memories. My Mom thinks it’s funny watching me get heartbroken by what appears to be such little and irrelevant items. She is definitely our last line of defence, stopping my father and myself from appearing on an episode of Hoarders. She doesn’t understand my current struggle of the lack of good judgement. But my dad does. He had been doing his best to avoid my current dilemma, knowing if he got to close; he would also start romanticizing the nostalgia of my childhood. But that changed the other day.

I was going through all my comics deciding on what ones to keep and which ones to donate, and I was really upset. My Grandfather used to read me old Captain America comics when I was a kid and he passed away last year due to COVID-19 complications. I was having a tough time parting with any of his belongings leaving me with his whole collection. My dad walked in saw what I was doing and sat on my bed with me as I cried. Once I calmed down a bit, and we sat in awkward silence for an even longer bit, he began telling me the story of how, before I was born, the house my Mom and himself were living in burnt down. They lost everything. Photos, family videos, trophies, my great grandmothers' jewellery, all irreplaceable keepsakes. He told me, take what you wish you would have if you lost everything.

I leave in three days. I have packed only one box. My grandfather's comics, family photos and some family heirlooms. I have donated quite a bit and someone has just bought my Hot Wheels collection for $500. Letting go has been quite difficult, and I still need quite a bit of practice as the half of my Luke Skywalker shrine at the bottom of the box can attest to. Hopefully, I can carry this new minimalist lifestyle throughout 2021. I still have quite a bit to pack, but I’m ready for my new life.