Scrap Shelf
Do you know what it feels like to find your place?
I understand it’s an assuming question. Some might not need to look or feel for such a place. On the other hand some may have a lot of places like this. And some may have their own unique experience that makes them feel the magic of finding their place in the world. I have used the word 'place' so much it might start to lose all its meaning. And since this is an article about meaning I will try not to batter your brain with its repetitiveness. Ironic how this word has so many repetitive sounds ; u ;.
So, back to things being in their rightful station. I moved into a new house, although it is old by its age. I have yet to arrange many things in their shelves and drawers. It can be overwhelming to not know what should go where. But I feel like allowing time to guide this arrangement can be more helpful than forcing to decide. I suppose this is not solely meant for objects.
If I talk about myself then I feel like I had a home many years ago but it might be nostalgia that makes me feel this way. In that house I had dragged out a heavy iron bookshelf myself, in order to modify the furniture according to my needs. I remember those moments clearly because I had felt proud of my strength when later on, I looked upon the big shelf I had moved alone. In the same day I scrubbed the walls and floor, took out the other furniture. And after the sun had set, I painted on the wall of the brick shelves. I made fanarts, and wrote some quotes I liked. I was full in my heart. And although the paintings were covered up by my favorite books, sometimes official documents of my father, sometimes just books and notebooks of my siblings in general; I knew my paintings were at the back, they were there, and the quotes I had written would replay in my mind.
It was peaceful as far as peaceful in my life went back then. And at times when I think of where I belong, I am often taken back to my old room where I was bursting with creativity and confidence. Now I’m at a new beginning. Although beginnings feel like a turn in a bicycle ride. You’re still on the same road just a different path, and it doesn’t feel like such a dramatic change as it may have once seemed to be. Moving to a house with its own memories is quite like that. There's a little bit of familiarity in its age for me. And living here is now getting to know its memories, which will be repainted over with my own.
As I took out some things for the kitchen from a box, I also found some scrap cloth. I put it along with a bundle of scraps I have, saved for any future project. I stuffed them in a storage next to the sewing machine. As I put them away, I realized that this felt like the perfect place for them to belong. A small action if you think about it, but it made me happy nonetheless. And an inkling of hope wriggled its way to the back of my mind. That I too, guided by time, will find my solace, my refuge and haven - the nostalgia of my old room.
Written by Sanjali. @pufflespower January 2023
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