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  • I’ve always had an issue with giving things away. To me, giving away something is like losing a piece of me, because I can practically see the sadness of the object as it’s given to someone else. “I’ve lived with you all my life, and you’re throwing me out?”

    I’m fifteen and have a slightly easier time giving things away than I did as a younger kid. I really don’t want to throw away my hole-filled childhood backpack, but I will if I must. However, I had a pretty different mindset as an Elementary schooler.

    When I was three, my uncle gave me a big white desk, with detachable shelves. This desk was too big for me at the time, and homework in Preschool is pretty lacking. So I used the desk and its shelves as a playground for my figurines. It had moved from Maryland to Maine with me and was never too busy to play. I used it as a workstation whenever I had work, or as the mountainous home to villainous legos and plastic dragons during my freetime. This desk was like a brother to me, but, there’s a problem. Brothers grow; the desk doesn’t. Brothers are brothers forever; we were not. I outgrew the desk, and my parents took it away from me.

    Angry, I refused to talk to my family for a long few hours. But, on its journey out the door to be driven away, I managed to get in one last memory with the desk. This last photo still makes me sad to see it, but I know that I couldn’t have kept the desk.

    After my desk was taken away, I got a new one. This new desk was flat and boring in comparison, but has served me well over the last few years. I still miss the white desk because it was my alternative to social interaction, but hey! Everything must go on.

    So now I’ve gotten a bit older, and feel a bit more ready to part with some of the things I have had for a while. Not fully ready, not yet. I’ll still hide my sadness when something is thrown away. I hope that one day, the loss won’t be as cutting; or won’t even be there at all! For now, though, I hope every object I have feels loved.
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