The Clothes On My Back

With only a week left until I fly out, I should really get my arse in gear and start packing. So yesterday, I went through my wardrobe and on top of working out what to take with me, I also decided to reorganise the whole thing.

And just as well.

It's amazing how much clothes I've accumulated over the years that my closet is actually very close to being filled to the rafters. I'm a bit of a hoarder who can't bear to chuck most things away. So, yesterday's effort was an exercise in ruthlessness and less of restraint. My plan: to get rid off anything I haven't worn in more than a year. Didn't get far until I got sidetracked.

I found a shirt - a light blue Saba summer number - that used to be my favourite. It was the shirt that I wore when I met A, my first boyfriend, and by coincidence, was also the shirt I had on when we broke up many months later. Bitter sweet. It astounds me the kind of feelings and memories we attach to material things - clothes in particular. And how much of this comes flooding back even after a long time has passed.

There was the slightly ripped jumper from one winter when a domestic argument spilled over to a real fight. The shorts from overseas that my departed Grandma gave as a gift when she visited for the last time. The overworn tracksuit pants from Kmart, considered a luxurious purchase when we didn't have much in a way of finance. The t-shirts an ex bought when things were still good.

But as much as sad emotions were also the tragically funny ones. The well-intentioned purchase of a muscle top two sizes too small, even now. A long sleeve pullover too fluffy even for a sheep to want to wear. Tight polyester 70s inspired shirts from the freshly out gay days. And baggy jeans galore from a rather forgotten homie gangsta period.

But tag them and bag them, I eventually managed to do. What a cathartic experience!

Now, the clothes I actually wear have the room neeeded to breathe... Although, I may have been a tad too zealous in the culling. There just seems to be a little too much space between the hangers and piles. Well, I guess there's only one thing I need to do to remedy that... a spot of retail therapy!