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I don’t konmari.

I’m moving and it’s at that state where things get worse before they get better. The deeper in drawers I go the farther back in time I travel. I’ve run into so many knick-knacks from friends growing up, people who have been out of my life for over a decade, but I can’t seem to throw away because the memories attached to them still bring me warmth after all this time. A few months ago I started preparing for this move and now that I’m in the sticky part of deciding to throw things out or keep them I feel this stress hovering over me and disrupting my thinking.

Today I was reminded of cross-word puzzles and games my friends made for me so that I can be entertained during the one-way road trip from Los Angeles to South Florida, feedback from old college drawing and design projects, so many old photographs I’ve taken and developed, painfully embarrassing music, stuffed animals given to me throughout my life, notes folded into cute shapes, and old journals of mine. The journals are particularly hard to revisit. I’m at a point where I just automatically tear up whatever is written without reading and recycle the rest. Typical teenage angst along with some deep soul-searching. I don’t want to shit on the pages I earnestly wrote at 16 when I thought the world was ending. Sometimes I want to go back in time and give teenage-me a hug and a note that says “You’ll be mostly-OK eventually.”

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