When I was a child, let's say about seven or eight, maybe, I decided to practice a fire drill. At home. Because, you know, I'm such a cool kid. When the orange flames began licking at the edges of my imagination, I bundled up my precious junk and stopped, dropped and rolled it out into my backyard. There, I relaxed on the damn grass, far from any fiery smoke. But to my horror, I had left something behind. "You can't go back in," my mum said. "The building's on fire." And thus began my obsession with minimising my possessions. I live in fear of the day I realise I've left something precious behind. So I try not to get too attached to physical objects. People and memories are enough.
I'm trying to declutter my life. But as a student with too many textbooks and clothes and crafty bits and pieces, it's difficult. So I like to plan. In an ideal world, I'd have a white apartment with only necessities. That dream is a fair way off, but I collect ideas anyway. This is what my perfect apartment would be like:
