Saturday, December 24, 2005

Roots In A Box

With my nomadic existence over the last few years, my possessions have grown fewer and fewer. Each move has involved parting with things I could do without. I have experienced at times "the unbearable lightness of being" - specially when I consider how it contrasts with the lifestyles of my acquaintances many of who are proud owners of tastefully furnished McMansions.

It takes only a couple of big brown cardboard boxes to move me. Possessions are called that for a reason - they make you grow possessive of them, they are the roots that you grow unawares. Having close to none, I have no roots or sense of belonging to any place.

I have the traveling-through-town state of mind. Yet when J and I sit down to dinner in the evening I fleetingly wish we could both really be "home". The dining-table in a box that goes where you do is one thing I thing I would love to own - a possession that would uproot and replant itself as often I need it to.

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