Once there was a mirror, hanging on the wall behind the door of my room. It has been there for ages, and I no longer recall how, and where the vanity item was acquired. All I know is that it served as my last stop every time I had to leave the house, or when I had to examine my nasal orifices to trim some wiry hairs protruding out my nostrils.
The mirror was a source of pride, not because of its plain and functional design, but because it was made of wood. Something I value when everything mass-produced is made of plastic. To me, the mirror reflects a bygone era, a time when ornately carved furniture adorned homes of ancient families and people with tastes. So imagine the sense of loss when my brother-in-law slammed the door of their room adjacent to mine, and the mirror came crashing to the floor.
His wife, my sister, shouted at him for being careless. But the error has already been made, microscopic shards have punctured a wound under my toe.
II. Rechargeable Flashlight
In a house resided by hoarders, it is easy to acquire stuff with questionable uses. One example is a wall calendar given by my aunt. The calendar was said to feature photos shot by my cousin. It would have been easy to perch the item at some unoccupied corner downstairs. But with space becoming scarce, the bunch of rolled calendars ended up squeezed behind the huge portrait of my long-dead father. They have been there for months, hidden from plain sight, until I pulled out the unused days planner only to dispatch them straight to the garbage can.
Same can be said with flashlights. We had pen-sized ones, as well as mini rechargeable lamps for sudden power interruptions. They were all over the place, until one by one, the electric torches disappeared. Some got broken, with batteries oozing with toxic substance still lodged inside their sockets. The flashlights were replaced by candles, but with matches as flame source, igniting a stick in pitch-black darkness might turn the lightbringer into a sorry firestarter.
III. Herb Pot
The time of replanting meant returning to the Circle to shop for herbs I will grow on plastic pots. I had two unused ones, canisters, whose previous occupants had to be ditched as they were invasive weeds whose seeds piggy-backed on birds' feathers. The pots were immediately put to use, with cuttings clinging to life as new roots refuse to sprout. Meanwhile, a mature Purple Basil, a variety I haven't cultivated in ages remain confined within its plastic wrap. Had I obsessed less with symmetry, I wouldn't mind keeping it there until I get to buy a sturdy polymer in my own leisure. But with the plants around it already kept in plastic and aluminum containers, it felt that my work is not yet done had I let it remain without a bowl to establish its domain.
Hence the original idea of embarking on a canvassing trip at Wilcon's for my carpet replacement summer project, ended with me paying for the acquisitions that were the subject of need in this blog entry.