Story of an Eastpack
We are in the midst of a big de-cluttering whirl. I’ve been selling and donating a lot of the stuff sitting around in our home under the title “What If We Need This…”. With every item gone, I felt a sense of elation, of relief. Especially since the age group of the people picking the stuff up seems to be very young couples who I assume cannot afford that much. Selfish it maybe but I feel good about myself helping those kids start out in their first homes.
Except for my Eastpack bag. Almost 12 years ago, just as I started university, I bought that bag. I never knew I had any feelings for it but it was such a faithful companion that held up through years of use and traveling. I had it on my back when I left Beirut to come to Germany.
A few days ago a guy called asking if he can have it and 15 minutes later, a young man in roller skates (he went up four stories in those skates!!) was at my door inspecting my bag. Before he arrived, I became anxious, walking around exclaiming loud “I can’t just sell it, it’s been with me for so long! I can’t!” I was hugging my bag and actually saying goodbye! In-between, your father made a very good point, “it has been sitting in the hallway closet for 5 years now unused and unloved. Let it go.”
In the end, the guy arrived, and I became all silly explaining to him where this bag came from and how much it has seen me through. All I got from him was “Can I put this in the washing machine?”
I feel as if I gave up a part of my past. No sense of elation or relief at all. I do realize it is just an object, that was sitting gathering dust and now it is useful again. I do realize that the memories that this bag has seen me through are in my head and not the bag. I guess my heart needs some time to catch up with my brain.