At the age of 25 I got a double bed. Sitting on it and writing, in the absence of space for a desk, I feel adult.
While it may sound simple, the lead up to this moment was not. Packing is not what it used to be – that is organising selected possessions to fit inside a suitcase to be taken on exciting world trips.
Packing for this time at least (and I will keep telling myself that) was”organising” worldly possessions, many of which are now of no use at all, to fit inside cardboard boxes to be stored and sorted at a later, more convenient date…
These things include old lighters that have ceased to ignite, expired student diaries that are an echo of my teenage self, and that dress that doesn’t fit any more and I wouldn’t dare wear out again but I just can’t chuck out. They are all there, somewhere, stuffed safely inside a box to make room for a piece of furniture that is suitable for a girl in her mid-twenties.
The “New-Age Guru” (thank you New York Times) Deepak Chopra says this: “the sense of continuity is held only by our memories.”
So I begin to think; if our past experiences form the person we are today, what happens if and when we lose our recollections? Do we as human beings cease to exist? Do we stop recognising who we are?
I am reading a book now called Synchrodestiny given to me from a stranger I met on a jetstar flight. He started talking to me and I responded politely, even though all I truly desired was the peacefulness of sleep in my post-hen’s weekend state. Not to mention I had to keep reminding myself to remain focused any time the plane bounced ever so slightly or a flight attendant walked by seemingly quicker than usual towards the back of the cabin. I have developed some anxiety about travelling on planes which is just downright annoying really when a flight is the perfect place to do nothing and relax but who isn’t nervous about flying these days? Nevertheless, I upheld the conversation for the hour or so trip from Melbourne to Sydney. As we began our descent, the man gave me this book he had brought with him to read while on his journey, he is up to page 63. I know this because he left the bookmark in it. He read me aloud the first paragraph of this “interesting book he is reading” before deciding that I would benefit more from it than he.
In simple terms, the book is about coincidences and as I open it I see there is dedication to four people, one of whom is called “Gotham”. As I read on, half expecting and hoping to read the word “Batman”, I see my own name “Tara” and a strange feeling comes over me slightly.
Does this mean anything?
I ask myself this as I sit on my oversized bed and my mind begins to wander to ponder the familiar situation we all experience when we sit next to a stranger on a flight. There we stay confined only accompanied by our carry on made up of our most prized immediate possessions, at once free from all our other junk and what really matters to us. Here our future and our past is insignificant, our reality and identity suspended in time.
I think this as I sit alone reading this philosophical Deepak Chopra book gifted to me by a stranger in a room cleared of possessions.
A book that I am still yet to finish with questions I am still yet to answer as I end this post at the age of 26, sitting on that same bed that needs a better mattress.