I long for one bare wall

Someone on the train this morning asked to borrow my Muji pen. While I obliged, I felt both annoyed and possessive, and stared at the couple until they returned it. K is right – I get kind of bitchy when I write.

I was writing about, (and funny how my voice has returned to me with the return of my favorite pens), the clutter of mostly small and sometimes large things that quietly stifle me, draining my energy. I made a list of things to throw away. But how? For example, what of that piano, that I’ve had since grade school, that hasn’t been touched in a year, that sits there reminding me of the part of me that is another failed Asian pianist? No part of me wants the daily reminder, but some far away part of me isn’t ready to give up hope of one day sitting down and banging out a real tune.

A hoola-hoop
A massage table
A broken TV

There is a dilemma and an attachment to each of our accumulations. Something in my family’s blood, we do this kind of thing: stuff full each of our closets, stuff full boxes beneath our beds, stuff full the tiny space we inhabit, living by picking around our things. I swear when I move away I will shed this behavior.

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