Spring-cleaning (Part 1)

Every year or so, I spring-clean my room, so as to ensure that I would actually be able to live in it. I always feel a little guilty tossing away old gifts, but one of the biggest leaps I've had to take was to throw out the huge box of old letters that I'd kept since primary school.

A couple of years ago, I decided that it was time, but I didn't have the courage to do it alone, and so I invited X to come over to help. X -- where do I even start? -- has seen me in my worst moments (which far outweigh my best) and she has chosen to love me, pray for me, stick by me, and stand up for me nonetheless; X is my soulmate in my pool of fantastic girlfriends. I couldn't remember what was in the box of letters -- probably many embarrassing secrets -- but I knew that there was nothing that I'd keep from her. Sure, she'd probably laugh at me while reading about them, but there was nothing in there that'd make her run away, and that was enough for me.

We spent a whole day sorting out what to keep, and what to throw away; that day, we laughed and cried probably more than any other day in which our friendship spanned. That alone made it all worth it; it was far better than having the letters sit in the corner of my room. It was cathartic too, because that box also contained stories of past heart-aches; I'd clung on to the pain for seven years too many, and it was finally time to move on.

***

I've often wondered how much reserve for memories our minds and hearts are able to contain. If we don't let go of the old, will we be able to make new ones? If we cling on to the old, will the new ones always be less than what they could be? Is it true what they say about old being gold, and new only silver? Is it possible to have the best of both worlds?

Two years ago, Q jokingly asked if I remembered being extremely unfriendly and curt to him (and to many other people) when I'd first entered JC. By this time, of course, we'd become firm friends, which was the only reason why I'd ever allow him to get away with asking me that.

I thought about that for a long time, at the end of which I typed a tearful e-mail of confession to him. The reason why I'd become so wary of meeting new people was because I was afraid that if I had to love someone new, I'd love my old friends less. The thought of that pained me to no end, and for a long time, I kept telling myself that anyone else I met along the way, they'd just be a classmate, or an acquaintance, but I'd never allow them to be my friend -- not if it meant that I'd have less to give to those who deserve my all.

I've since I'm still trying to overcome that, although I remain extremely reluctant apprehensive when it comes to meeting strangers. (This is the real reason why I don't meet people off the internet too.) Thankfully, there have been people who've stuck by me, even when they didn't even know me -- which is the only reason why I'm not a (total) social recluse. I cannot be more grateful, and I owe them a debt of friendship that I will probably never be able to repay.

***

Wow. I've just rambled on and on, when all I really wanted to do was to explain why I'd cleared out my shelf of stuffed toys. Is anyone even reading at this point? I can't even remember what I'd originally wanted to say; I can't remember why I cleared out my shelf, only that I did.

***

Every time I throw these things away, it's always a momentous occasion for me -- like a stock-take of my friendships, my stories, my life. It's never an easy thing to do. This time, I'll do a tribute of sorts, so that at least there will be some documentation of their existence.

I wish I'd done the same during my previous spring-cleanings.

***

This shelf of toys began only when I entered into JC. Everything before that is in a cupboard in my sister's bedroom (which I used to share).

Other than the McDonald's toys, all the others were gifts. Actually, even some of the McDonald's toys were gifts. Regrettably, I've forgotten the stories behind some of the toys, but I'll try my best anyway, and expound on the forgotten ones as and when I remember them.

***





I had to post both of these together, because I wanted to show you Chip & Dale (the chipmunks). I can't remember, but I think Dale is the one with the red nose. Any clarification on this would be much appreciated. These were McDonald's toys, but they were given to me, not as a gift, but because of a friend who was getting rid of her emotional baggage. When teenage girls talk about guys, we use nicknames for the simple fact that we could talk about them openly, without the danger of them stumbling upon -- and deciphering -- our conversation. So yes, there was a "Chip," and there was a "Dale."

The spongy rugby ball was, of course, one of those souvenirs from a tournament.

Then there's Miffy (the bunny) -- a birthday gift from my friend, E. I do lapse into momentary lows, and during one of those moments, E asked what he could do to make me feel better. Without a word, I dragged him off to the children's section of Borders and whipped out some Miffy books. I sat him down, and proceeded to read book after book -- out loud. The thing about Miffy is that there is a limerick-ish flow that makes reading aloud feel almost like a song. It's very therapeutic, and everyone should try it sometime. Of course, E was more embarrassed than anything else, but he sat with me anyway.

The next week, I dragged him off to Times and did it all over again. This time a small congregation of children gathered around, much to my delight, and to his dismay. I can't quite believe that he didn't -- at any point of time -- take off running.

E tutors my brother now, and I'm still trying to get used to the fact that he pops his head into my room unannounced, while I'm in bedclothes and all. But I suppose he earned that, after being traumatised by the whole book-reading incident.

That little dog in the corner, the one with the droopy eyes, is Sad Sam. He has a zipper running down his back. Yeah, he's actually a little purse. I can't remember how he came to be in my possession, but I remember bringing him to school a couple of times, until the teasing got so bad that it made Sam even sadder.

The blue bear (even though it doesn't really look blue in this picture) is Ah-Bear. I always get a kick out of asking people to guess his name. X bought this for me when we first entered into different JC's, and I bought her the same one, but in red. I had a tough time adapting to JC, without my closest friends around, so Ah-Bear went wherever I did. When I got bored during lectures, I would sit Ah-Bear on my desk, and then proceed to snooze off, hoping that Ah-Bear would take my place listening to the lectures instead, and then whisper them into my ear in the middle of the night. (I did this again when I first entered NUS.)

The latest addition to this shelf of toys is that fuzzy lime-green Neopet. I came home one day -- just last week -- to find it on my table. Puzzled, I asked my mom where it'd come from.

"From your brother," she said simply.

My brother is not one for kind words and affection, and so when I heard that he'd actually bought me something, you can imagine how it made me feel. I knocked on his room door, and popped my head in.

"You bought this for me?" I asked incredulously, in mock almost-tears of joy, pressing the green creature against my face.

"Er, no, I found it on the MRT, and I didn't want it, so give you, lor," he answered, and then went back to his work.

I dropped the toy like a hot iron, and then dashed to the bathroom to wash my face.

Sigh.

FINALLY, something a lot less gross, that mouse in royal garb, whose name is SqueaKing. Get it, get it? Squea-King?! Haha, I love puns. Er, except when they're being used to make fun of me, of course.



SqueaKing was a Christmas present from a friend, while we were having one of those annual sleepovers with present exchanges. She gave us each a different toy, each with its own story that formed the part of a bigger story.



I'd like to think that that's how we'll always be; our lives intertwined in this way, where we're all writing our own stories, but where we'll always make other beautiful ones as a whole.

***



We were each given the Adidas rugby ball by our juniors, which was a pretty spiffy gift; I can't remember what we bought for our seniors! For clarification, it isn't a toy, we actually train with smaller balls. I wonder if basketballers practise with tennis balls.

Winnie the Pooh was a souvenir from Tokyo Disneyland; and that furry purple thing is a now-defunct pen.

The dog (you can only see his nose) was a Christmas present, and my friend made a green-and-red friendship band (goodness, how many of those did I make during my time?) for the dog's collar. :)

The Esso Tiger was a gift from a friend, when I was in secondary school, so I guess it's the oldest toy on my shelf. He had an obsession with the Esso Tigers, and I knew that to give me one out of his collection meant a great deal; I am still grateful for the gesture. The only reason why it survived the last cleaning is because I loved to throw it around. When I brought it to play in JC, however, the stupid boys started playing "Monkey" with it, for those of you who are familiar. And guess who was always the monkey?!

Something about wearing khaki shorts -- for too many years than should be allowed -- made the boys in my class exceptionally tall; eventually I learned that the only way to get my Tiger back was to kick the boys in the shin. Yep, I got my Tiger back, all right.

And that raccoon... ah, that raccoon.

I used to have an affinity for tiny trinklets with bells. I loved the delicate sound that a tiny bell made; I used to hang one on my pager (pager!). Anyway, word got out, and one of my seniors bought me this raccoon. In the tail of the raccoon was embedded a tiny bell; I don't know if it came this way, or if he'd tampered with it, but I loved it nonetheless.

That raccoon is also the one toy that cannot stay still on my shelf. It keeps tumbling down, and always in the still of the night while I am studying; it always draws out a shout of shock from me when it lands in the middle of my textbook with a thud.

***





You know how rumours get distorted along the way? I suspect something like that happened, because apparently everyone started to get the idea that I liked "toys that made noise" (after the raccoon) so one year, I got two musical coin boxes (South Park and Minano Tabo), as well as the blue hippo, Hippy, who -- if you pressed him -- made a "Farrrrroomph!" noise. I think it's supposed to be cute, but frankly, it was more creepy than anything else.

The purple hippo is, um, Hippo, and because I ran out of names, when I got an orange hippo next, I named him Hyypia. ;)



***



Most of the gifts are really sweet, but then there were also the downright puzzling, like the Superman coin box. Correct me if I'm wrong, but is Superman being extremely obscene, or is it just me? I can't remember who gave this to me, but I suspect it's one of those people -- of the khaki-shorts clan.

We used to call Mr Mogu (a term coined by A L) "Superman," because he always wore red underwear to school. It's not that I peeked at them, it's that he always tucked his shirt inside his underwear, causing his red undies to be on full display every morning. Of course, it didn't help that the other boys took great delight in pulling down his shorts during P.E. lessons.

Mr Mogu's excuse? That it was "too dark in the morning so I took the wrong pair of underwear." Um, dude, that's really not the point, and it doesn't help, either. And if you say that every day, then you either have seven pairs of red underwear, or you just don't change them. Seriously, either way...

Anyway, the point is that the rest of the class always seemed to couple us up; even when we met up last year, they made us sit together for photo-taking. Hence the Superman coin box, I guess.

***

So at the end of this first part, what is the moral of the story? The lesson to be learnt here is to not give me any soft toys as presents. Seriously. They will sit on my shelf for about five years, get blogged about, and then tossed out during my one moment of courage. Unless, of course, I love you very very much. :)