Time To Let Go

   
     When you look at an object what do you see? Do you see the array of shapes and colours, compiled together like a geometric experiment? Do you envision how well it would look with that vintage shirt you have in your closet? The things that catch our eyes are not just things to us, they acquire meaning, and live out our experiences with us. Like loved ones or friends, it becomes difficult to let them go because they are no longer cotton or rayon. They transform, morph not in form or purpose, but in significance. Your favourite blue shirt becomes the night you first met the one, as he accidentally spilled his drink all over its fabric. Your dogs collar in the box in your closet becomes a marker of his presence in your world, despite his passing. The photograph of everyone laughing simultaneously at a joke that you no longer remember becomes a freeze frame of a moment where you felt blissfully happy. They are no longer objects to us, but become symbols of the memories we made, memories we fear of letting go. It is as if discarding them would mean that they did not exist, did not have a place in our lives at all.
    Now think about a friend or family member. Why are they important to you? Is it because it is your obligation to love them because you were born into their sphere? Or do you feel a connection to them because they somehow burrowed into your heart? When I think of my friends I think of tomato tattoos, tinfoil grills, toasters, and fishnets; I think of funny library dates where studying was the goal but not the outcome; I think of  ridiculous camping trips and high heeled breakfasts. All of these sporadic images come together to construct my reality, to mold my experience.
    Last Wednesday, at the Beyond Borders garage sale, a seemingly insignificant thing happened to make me contemplate these things. Powerhouse, Brieanne, brought in a bag that everyone seemed to want. She was about to make the sale, when her mind began to churn and her pulse began to quicken. Something inside her would not allow her to let the bag go. She explained to us that the more she thought about the bag, the more the memories came flooding back to her. The bag was her moms, and she had had it even before Brieanne was born. The bag was there, in the vicinity of the important mother-daughter moments she experienced, trips they took, memories they made. The association between the object and the experience is what she could not part with.
    This realization got me thinking about the past year, and the concerns that were raised in class about separating from significant others, family members, and friends, while abroad for the duration of 3 months. I know that several students are fearful of what the distance will do to their relationships, and afraid of not having someone to comfort them in their times of isolation and struggle in a foreign country, but I try to view it from another perspective: if they are important enough and if they stand by you despite the distance, then they will be there when you get back. If not, then they are not worth it in the first place. We cannot let our fears of things falling apart govern the shape of our experiences, for it is then that we begin to lose sight of who we are.
    No one promised smooth sailing or a walk in the park. There will be times when we will want to throw in the towel and give up. There will be times when we will break down from culture shock. There will be times when we will feel conflicted and scared, and made to question why we even came. That is simply the reality of an experience like this. I did not sign up to be a tourist, I could have gone to France or Italy for that: I signed up to be rattled. We are an evolutionary bunch, we will learn to cope and adapt. So as nervous as I am about letting go and missing those I leave behind, I know from experience that: what does not break you, makes you stronger.