cc0

Yesterday, I grieved my beloved emerald raw silk dress from Hanoi and a newly acquired 100% cotton t-shirt from a somewhat bougie store that had become a fast favourite. I have been trying to wear less synthetic fabrics and those were meant to be part of my main wardrobe. They are gone now. They, along with some underwear (RIP) and a bolster cover I had planned to give to a friend. All gone. How blissfully poetic that I cannot remember all items of clothing in that particular load, when I had just been writing about having a lot and how I need to re-look at my relationship to the material.

I was struck down with an illness again last Friday (at this point, it feels like a curse). I honestly can’t remember if it was Thursday night or Friday when I put the load of laundry in, but I was knocked out and next thing I know, I wake up and it was Sunday. The thought about the load of laundry just sitting there was in the back of my mind as I lay in bed exhausted and in a fuzzy state. And here is one of the main disadvantages of being a singular household, apart from having to change the bedsheets on your own, you have to do all of it on your own. Laundry. Folding Laundry. Cleaning house. Changing lightbulbs. Plumbing. General upkeep of your dwelling. Sometimes, searching for missing laundry. And it adds up to feel very burdensome. Especially, when you’re sick.

There was a little knot in my stomach when I finally got out of bed, but I still hoped for the best.

It was my first day feeling human, but I still moved with a weighted head. The migraine and aches hadn’t fully disappeared. Quietly, I walked towards the machines—then I noticed that the dryer was empty. Empty. Any item I expected to find, was not where I though I left them before the world faded for two days from my consciousness. They were not not even put in a re-usable bag on top of the machines, which is how some of the former neighbors would set aside forgotten laundry whenever someone needed to use them. Nada. The whole lot of it was just gone.

There was however, a load in the wash whirring and sloshing around as if to taunt me. I am not yours. These aren’t yours, Lady! For a second, I thought perhaps someone kindly put my load in the wash again. I was knocked out for two days after all. But that seemed highly unlikely. My neighbors are mostly straight patriarchal men and they have not been as neighborly as I have been. They fail to clean the lint filters after they use the machines, so why the sudden thoughtfulness?

As it happens with any precious attachments, when it finally sunk in that my favourite items and assorted possessions were likely thrown away, I let out a little panicked sound. A gasp. A muffled cry.

But, feeling too weak to express anything beyond the shock, I quickly composed myself. The moral of the story and TL;DR was loud and clear: Time to let go of these material lovely things.

Let go of these, and anything else you are still clutching on to. With every breath. Let go. And within the same breath, I also allow there to be sadness for these small, ultimately insignificant losses.

#writing