I love libraries, but I don't like borrowing books. I think that's why my bookshelf is overflowing. I have a problem. I like to own things. Even if a friend lends me a book, and I like it, I'll go out and get one just so that I can own it. I have multiple copies of the same titles because of superficial things like the font, the cover design, the size and paper quality. But it's good because I can lend these books to my friends and still have a copy of the title sitting in my shelf. So far I've got multiple copies of Brave New World, 1984, The Great Gatsby, and A Clockwork Orange. Honestly, I'm quite bored of owning things. Some nights I look at everything in my room and wish I could sell everything and begin from scratch. A plain canvas of a room. Plain canvas of a life. We collect things as we grow up, and these things kind of identify who we are. The kind of clothes we wear, the type of CDs we listen to, the DVDs we watch over and over again. But tastes change. Over the holidays I hear my friends talk about wanting to change their entire wardrobe, as if putting on a new identity. Somewhere along the line we let things make up who we are. But we collect more than just things. We collect people, relationships, habits, habits with people. And while we can so easily change our wardrobe or our taste in music and donate the things we own, we cannot change the relationships we have built with people as easily. We cannot change the habits we have collected over time. We are creatures of habit.
As much as I'd like to sell everything I own and begin building my life again from scratch, I will never bear to part with some things. If you knew me in poly, you would know that I give away a huge stack of CDs and DVDs every year, because I want to make way for my new favourite bands. You can't do that with people. As much as I'd like to get rid of certain memories and begin building my life on plain canvas, I will never bear to let go of what we've built already. The room is filled with items that fit so nicely in their own corners. It's too heavy to move away, too painful to look at the fairly bright rectangular spot on the floor where the bookshelf used to be. Habits form so quickly that once they stop, you experience this jarring difference. It feels like I've thrown out my bookshelf and while it took so much energy and effort and courage to throw it all out, I'm more than willing to look for it and put it back to where it belongs because there's nothing else to place in that spot. I'm beginning to wonder if that's why couples stay together for so long despite not loving each other anymore. You spend so much of your life collecting memories and placing them in your head and in your heart that you don't know how else to feel and how else to fill up those spots. It takes too much effort to make a change, even if that means moving on to better things. You'd rather be unhappy and comfortable than take a risk with something new. We are creatures of habit. We are all afraid of moving on because what if the new bookshelf doesn't fit in the spot? Why did the old one leave such a huge mark on the floor. And then, why did I throw it out in the first place.
I like to own things and my interests come and go real quickly. This is why I have my electric and acoustic guitars sitting at Ludfil's house, my french horn in Grimlay's house, my C.S Lewis collection collecting dust at many of my friends' places, and my bicycle waiting for a new owner while it braves the weather at the corridor. All these things I half-own. Because they are neither gone nor in my care. Sometimes I feel like I half-love you. Because you are neither gone nor in my care.