Clearing Up

Last week a friend brought me his video-editing computer. He had promised to lend it to me since middle of last year. I was so glad he finally made true his promise, as I am presently getting quite serious in my desire to learn a new digital video-editing program.

Little did I know that the arrival of the machine was also to mark a turning point in my life.

As I was trying to position the computer set in my small place, I realized that there was hardly a space left to put it in. The main room was full. On one corner, there was already this computer, the one I use for writing. The other corner was heaped high with storage boxes containing clothes and various other things.

Pieces of video equipment were all around. Lighting tools were fully occupying the tight anteroom that you first get into from outside before entering the main room. It has long ago passed the point where I could get a large jar of drinking water into it. Sometimes I can’t even open the door when I want to go out. I have to clear the blockade of things first.

An electrician once came around to fix a defective wall outlet in the 3-square-feet outer area. He said I couldn’t have all that stuff piled close to the electrical outlet. That’s easy for him to say, but where am I going to put it? Where would I put the foldable chair with a broken leg that’s still too good to throw away and that I’ll probably get at fixing someday? There’s no place anywhere else for the halogen lamps and their tripods and the small washing machine and the rice cooker and the few utensils except there.

The space under my bed isn’t any better. As you can imagine, it is not high enough to accommodate so much; and it is full of cartons of documents, books, and over a hundred discs of nice movies that have accumulated through the years. Every now and then I have to get down on my hands and knees, and then exert good effort to shove the things in so they won’t stick out.

Interestingly, the situation back in my parents’ home in the province, which is a much bigger place, is not so much different. Even with all of us children not staying there anymore, the old house continues to be so densely stuffed. Like my small rented place, it too is jam-packed and looks like it will burst open anytime.  

It is probably true in any home that when the children leave to be on their own, they don’t take much of their things with them. In my parents’ home, there is evidence in closets and drawers everywhere of the twenty or so years each of us siblings spent on the house. And I think our mother is doing an amazing job in keeping everything intact.

It’s a wonder why parents entertain the foolish notion that they’re loved and wanted just because their children leave things behind when the kids strike out on their own. The children, for their part, are about as sentimental about their belongings at home that they want to keep it there like they never left, although they’re already making life elsewhere and have no more plans or chances of living with their parents.

My own boy Krue has several denim pants and about a dozen t-shirts placed in a box with me. Yes, it’s one of those things that are keeping my small place tight. But I couldn’t just throw it away. Every time he comes home to me, which is very rarely now, he looks for his things.

As it is now, my life runneth over. And I must do something about it. From this day onward, I am not adding a single thing to my collection of possessions. If I bring something new in the front door, I’m going to release something old out the back door.

If I buy a new shirt, I’m going to let go of an old one.

I am going to cut in half the number of those plastic bags the supermarket attendants put my groceries in. I already have enough supply of those for future use. I am going to give away to my needy neighbors the coffee canisters, large mayonnaise bottles, cracked plates and glasses and perhaps, just perhaps, donate my compilation of old Newsweek magazines to a reading center in a barrio.

If something ordinary does not hint of any foreseeable use in the next six months to a year, then there is probably no reason for keeping it.

I’ve realized that I need to clear up my life, starting any day soon. Well… this week maybe, or the next. There’s no need for so much hurry, anyway. And so I dawdle again.