A Museum of Memories

I'm writing this at one of my favourite Coffee Bean hangouts. It's surprisingly quiet at lunch time and I'm happy to be able to find a small table to set up my laptop for this weekly session of writing and reflection. It's coming to the end of April; I've already filed my taxes and now planning the refurbishment of my apartment. 

I've had my apartment for around 20 years now but I've never ever spent a single night there. I use it mainly as an occasional home office, library and store-room for the junk that I've collected over the years. Even though I try to be more of a minimalist these days, things have a tendency to accumulate--especially all my old electronics.

The other day I resurrected my old Denon amplifier which I had chucked away somewhere with all the other kitsch and wreckages of my wandering life. I was surprised that it was still working despite being subjected to the heat and humidity of my storeroom for more than a decade. I also found an old portable Technics CD player which I managed to hook up to the amp. Suddenly my entire CD collection came back to life bringing back sweet nostalgic memories of the past.

One day, I will also resurrect my dad's turn-table which has been lying untouched back in my hometown. I still have a small collection of vinyl records there. Every one of them will unlock memories of the many happy hours of my childhood admiring the art on the album covers, poring over the song lyrics or blurbs which are usually printed within their folds while listening to warm strains that wafted from the speaker.

I get my music from Spotify these days and it has been great being able to call up any classical piece that I wish to listen to with a mere tap of my fingers on the phone. But there's a certain indescribable pleasure one gets by dropping a piece of CD or vinyl record onto a rotating plate and voila, beautiful  music suddenly appears.

I realised that my entire life is encapsulated in these objects that I own--my CDs, DVDs, video cassettes, books and magazines that lie everywhere in my apartment. I've neglected them for far too long. I'm going to dust, clean and rearrange them properly. Repair anything that's damaged and discard any unnecessary clutter. 

Maybe I still have too many attachments to these things. I'm also aware that if I'm not ready to give or throw them away, there's still some unresolved karma that I have associated with them. By going through them again, I am reexamining their significance in my life, and perhaps in the process of doing that, I'll understand why they have a hold on me still. 

The things you've accumulated is the history of your life and there's often much we can learn from history. It is in this spirit that I'm slowly transforming my apartment into my personal museum of memories.