I've always had a bit of a habit of keeping things longer than they should be kept (even if at all). It's been a habit of mine since childhood; back then the thought of losing that dream journal or that sacred bracelet from Chuck E. Cheese's was emotionally devastating, and would lead to a teary-eyed 8-yr-old me running to the trash bin behind the house to rescue beloved memories in the forms of scribbles and knick knacks.
While the basic habit never died, it turned away from an emotional attachment to one completely of a desire not to waste or the thought that I would "someday" make this, or "someday" need that, and when I would need this or that, I would have it ready and I wouldn't have wasted anything. The objects that came within this realm did not include clothing or shoes, etc., which have always been donated, but rather those such as balls of yarn or packs of cute stickers, fabric I always planned to sew into shalwar kameez but never was quite able to find the time for.
Yet these days I find myself with the desire to let go of it all. I felt this once before when, in a sudden, furious desire for change, I ran to the salon and chopped off more than a foot of my hair (and felt completely free afterward). I feel this sensation creeping up again, but rather than taking it out on my head, I've been determined to release my room and let it float.
I suppose I should tell you, though, that this wasn't a completely random process: my mother informed me that once I move out, all of my things will be thrown out as used to be done when I was a child...so naturally I am panicking and trying to salvage what I can (and hide what I can't).
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