The Boxes in My Head

November 7, 2010
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My house has been taken over by boxes. I’ve held it off for as long as possible, but now its time; I step into my room, knowing after today it will never be mine again. My old wood desk cluttered with a myriad of books, mugs, craypas, and countless sticky notes of reminders and to-do lists, most of which are yet to be accomplished. The blue dragon patterned headband I wore when I went to the Head of The Charles with my Crew team laying on the ground next to my cleats, nicely fragranced from my lacrosse practice. My closet, which looks like a monster regurgitating clothes, half of which are those forgotten by friends and never returned on my part, takes up an entire wall. To the right, my queen-sized bed, next to a wall of windows, and in-front of a wall once decorated with pictures, posters, paintings, and sports certificates. Though its far from clean, big, or coordinated together in anyway, my room is uniquely me- expressive.

I sigh and decide to start with my shelf.The first thing i grab, the clay Zebra mask made by my very nonartistic friend, reminding me of the safari themed surprise party the two of us had planned for our Russian friend; memories of loud music, KFC, and failure cookies flood my mind as i reach my hand out for the next object. The miniature Hula-Girl given to me by my best friend who had moved to France last summer, her wiggling hips trigger memories of boring school dances made fun by our crazy antics. At her feet lies a piece of pale-pink, peach, and white corral I picked up from the beach in Costa Rica; I laugh, thinking of that vacation and remembering my enthusiastic offer to pee on my little sister when she had been sting by a jellyfish. My mother had given be a stern look and told me to stop, this wasn't a joking matter; really- its common knowledge that to urinate on a jellyfish sting is the immediate remedy, at least according to the random facts in the all-knowing day planners systematically dealed out by the school (at least they're good for something!). Behind her lies my childhood rock collection, a pastime i enjoyed with a nature-loving friend who had initially taught me English; ironically, she had had a speech impediment, resultantly, my English was...interesting. A blue, olive-wooden cat figurine from my trip to Greece lazily looks up at me, between its paws i had placed fragments of Murano glass from Venice. Choosing which cat i wanted had been an arduous to almost ridiculous, my eleven-year old self had eventually settled on the one which looked most like my own cat back home; putting as much sentiment behind the choice as possible. The swirls in my Venetian mask picked by the little girl who was me during my girly phase each hold the memories of my annual summer trip taken with my grandparents to the 'City of Glass'; the heat and joy reflecting in its polished surface. A dried-White Rose corsage droops over a metal 'Z' book holder, a birthday present, with a Squash ball squished into one of the crevices. With 12 my friend had decided she would take us all to go play Squash; the part forever remembered- during dinner her and i had ordered Green-Apple soda which we took upon ourselves, smart as we were, to stick the straws up our nostrils and inhale...my sister derived great amusement from our howling thereafter. I reach out and gently take the glass heart off of the picture frame, i look at it, and in its reflection i see myself.

"Christ i sound like Mulan- might as well start singing now," the thought bitterly runs through my mind as i glance back at the heart, and it shows me exactly what i am; i am the Hula-Girl who dances on the Russian-Safari Zebra next to the yawning cat who plays with the glass from Venice just like the mask infront of the 'Z' and the green-apple soda Squash ball rolling around the corral near the language rocks of a distant childhood. It showed me the little Austrian girl who had grown from a nature-tomboy rock-hunter to the animal-loving girly-girl; and i was amazed reflecting back on the confidence i had acquired through my life, and the memories of people who had made me who i am today. I realized everyone who I will ever meet will be placed inside my head, in a box; and each and every person, every memory they give me, will become a part of me.

I look around, all things carefully stored, placed, and crammed- all into boxes. I smile; I know that my memories are stored just the same, crammed into corners of my mind, yet the best part is that because its me, and neatness does not exist within, they tumble out in a myriad of colors and shapes, blurring into one giant mess i call myself.





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