let it go

There is something so utterly calming about minimalism. I often fall to sleep dreaming of a white-walled room containing a bed, fluffy white blankets and little else. The less stuff you own, the less your stuff owns you. I do have a habit of collecting odds and ends wherever I go, but I'm slightly proud and slightly horrified to reveal that I'm also pretty damn good at throwing things away.

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: