Asra Yousuf

This might just turn out to be another post on the internet about minimalism, or it might not. We’ll see how it goes.

I moved apartments last week. Although the distance wasn’t much, moving often ends up being more of an emotional journey along with being a physical one. You go through this journey of making a home of every house in your own small way, only to pack everything up in boxes to start all over. Part of you is drowning in nostalgia thinking of all the great moments you experienced within those walls and the person you became in that space. And a part of you is looking forward to a fresh start- to writing a new story, to beginning a new adventure.

Moving also makes you come to terms with the stuff you own. I moved to this city with exactly 2 suitcases and a backpack- how did I end up accumulating countless cartons worth of stuff?! Despite being in a Marie Kondo zone while packing, and having discarded everything that didn’t bring me joy, I was exhausted at the end of moving day. Well, you never know when you might read the book you bought at a random bookstore or that shoe, that bites you every single time, might finally show you some mercy.

This move is all the more special because for the first time I have an entire place to myself- yes, that sadly means no more splitting your electricity and WiFi bills with anyone. But the daunting expenses apart and the constant doubt if living in a 1 bedroom in one of the costliest cities in the world makes any financial sense at all, I am excited to be living the Carrie Bradshaw life in the city- minus the sex and the fact that my apartment is not rent-controlled. And of course, my tiny closet doesn’t even compare.

Between discarding old things and dreaming of buying new things, I am conflicted by the idea of things and the joy they promise. I have often wondered what makes a house a home- is it the people in it, is it the random things that hold memories from the past, or just the person you are in that space and moment in your life? Building a home is always a work in progress. It is never done and dusted. When it comes to curating your space, there is always that one more thing that will make it perfect- the tripod lamp or a cute corner shelf with the leaves of a pothos plant spilling over. Where does one draw the line between things that you absolutely need and the things that have no utility but give you joy, which makes them valuable in their own way?

It is tricky measuring the joy that non-utilitarian things bring and knowing for yourself if it is “worth it” or not, because no one else can put a price on it, but you. For instance, I have never really dreamt of the kind of house that I would want but I have dreamt of bookshelves and pantries. Can I live without them? Yes. Will they bring me unparalleled joy? Yes.

Some things capture your identity in some small way or transport you back to a different time and place. I have had a beautiful spoon with carvings, for as long as I can remember. I used it as a kid, had it with me in college and in every other house I have had- from Chennai to San Francisco. It reminds me of home, in a weird sentimental sort of way.

Things come with anxiety too- things that have no utility and no joy- but lie around with the hope that they might fulfill their purpose someday. Minimalism is often at war with comfort and trends when you need to draw the line at number of pairs of jeans you own, or the sets of linen sheets you really need. They bring along the guilt that comes from consuming beyond your needs, occupying more space than what’s required and adding more to the world’s problems.

Each person has their personal journey of crafting their relationship with the things they own. And as we grow, the relationship evolves as well. What has your relationship with the things you own been like?