My collection of pigs. Taken on a very sad day, before I said goodbye. I have since recovered from the sadness. My collection is still there, though much smaller.
Disclaimer: The author assumes no responsiblity over the confusion this read may generate. The author’s thoughts and emotions have gone on a long roller-coaster ride, and may not return to solid ground for some time.
I always have a fiery temper. Quick to anger, but quick to cool down as well. Gone may be the days of banging my young forehead on the floor and other deeds to earn my childhood nickname of the “Little Volcano”. But what has remained is the “black face”, and irritated slamming of things when I am frustrated.
Mental images of smashing things to the point of permanent damage often appear when I become very angry, but they have never been translated into action so far. I guess that is the way I am able to defuse my anger quickly and safely, with no damage whatsoever.
So I thought I had managed my anger pretty well so far, and I have mellowed out over the years. I have learnt to let many things go and not many issues/people can rattle me up now, compared to years ago.
This week, however, is proving to be a very challenging one for me. My blood has been boiling over practically every evening after work for the past few days. Because of the major overhaul of the study room, and the relocation of the Little One’s belongings, I have the (mis)fortune of taking the bus home from work.
And I am extremely frustrated. From the weariness after a day’s work, the frequency of buses during the peak hours, the capacity of single-deckers, to the “considerate” behaviour of commuters. An angrily “wonderful” experience home. Each time.
I have 2 loves sustained since young – soft toys and pretty stationery. Major excitement to collect, major storage space required, major heartache and disappointment when it’s time to let go.
So I become frustrated again. Frustration at having to let go, go to waste, helpless to save all of them from the inevitable destiny. And it is this helplessness that is eating away at me.
I start to berate myself. Why have I started down the path of collecting them, if I had known that one day they all have to go? All the joy that I experienced through the collection has turned to bitterness over a span of days. And the fact that I am the only one who cannot seem to let go makes it worse.
The nonchalant flick of the wrist to send the things into the bin, the deliberate clearing without as much as a moment’s hesitation or a backward glance. No doubt the arranged photos with all my pigs was heartwarming and sweet, but it was too much for my weary and broken heart to bear. I broke down. Partly due to my yet-to-be-dissipated frustration from a horrendous ride home, the majority stemming from seeing the extent of my collection that has to go. And amongst them pigs that I would never have let go if I had seen them disappear into the bags.
In the end, some of the pigs were revived, and I am very grateful for that. The same goes for my stationery. Yet, I feel so alone. I think I can begin to understand a watered-down version of the feelings lone crusaders face when they are fighting a lost cause, all by themselves. The feeling of desolation is a very powerful one indeed. Helpless to change a situation, not powerful enough to steer the course.
There is one valuable lesson I have learnt: not to attach emotions to anything dispensable. Nothing can remain in possession forever. Although I have stopped collecting for a while now, I’m going to need some time to get over my attachments. I shall continue the good practice of admiring from a distance. To be able to let go and not possess is a good virtue…
At the end of the day, something good does come out of the overhaul. At least the house is less cluttered now and we have fewer possessions. Now to maintain it this way…