“Look for the bare necessities,” is what I’ve been told by Baloo, the bear fitured in my all-time favorite movie. It is the bare necessities that should have influenced my decisions as a toddler, only justified with the argument that I could comprehend biting as much as I could chew. I recall a visit to the convenience store with my mom around the age of 7, in which I had distraitly taken a candle-stick. I do not recall why I took it; perhaps the design on the mold was enticing or either a kleptomaniac habit was forming, I do not know. My mom continued her shopping while I followed, not paying attention to the candle in my hand. We made our way to the cash register and paid for our goods except for the candle I had pilfered, which made its way past the security away from anyone’s attention. The stolen item was detected by my mom when she realized a candle was not located anywhere on her grocery list. She commanded me to return the candle and apologize in an acrimonious tone. I refused to comply, the reason being that I was probably too embarrassed or that I felt that I really needed it. The fact of the matter was that I was probably never going to use it, and that there was no need of it in my possession.

I ended up keeping the candlestick, but never once used it or picked it up again. It taught me the uselessness of wanting things like the way a millionaire may covet dozens of cars to curve their appetite of purchasing more things. They may never drive the rest of their cars, and seem more like a hamster struggling to fill their cheeks even when their bowl is full. And If it weren’t for the necessity of objects, then necessity wouldn’t be the mother of invention.