In moving to a new home, I have brought everything –
All the things that have been with me through my life so far;
And for a moment, I stare on in stunned silence
As I see how cluttered the house looks already.
Reluctantly, I unpack the towers of boxes,
Taking out the things that I think I will need most.
It isn’t until I reach the bottom layers
That I get side-tracked from this game of priorities.
Buried beneath the mounds of books and broken pencils
Lies all the jumbled paraphernalia of my past,
And I wonder how they could have ever been relevant.
They are all so random and seemingly have nothing to do with each other.
And I wonder if that has been my life all this time –
Random fragments thrown together in one box;
And I realise that I have persisted in carrying them with me
Because I still wanted to make sense of them.
It is like looking through a kaleidoscope –
My present is speckled with the vivid glass beads of my past;
And I have stared down it for so long in trying to know them
That the striking patterns have been branded on my mind.
I wonder how long I have been this way –
With one eye squeezed shut and the other glued to the ‘scope;
I wonder if this is all that life is about –
To be constantly trying to solve a past that never was.
Have I really wasted my life being hung up on things long gone?
Do I even exist in the present at all?
Or am I the memory and souvenir of a past moment
And the items in the boxes are what’s alive now?
Somehow, they seem so much more real,
Now that they are devoid of all meaning.
And I appreciate them as they are –
Things that exist for their own sake, and not mine.