For this task, I chose the everyday handbag I try never to leave the house without. It’s a small (25x20cm) cross-body sling bag because I always like to have my hands free and available rather than fumbling with shoulder bag straps. It is deliberately tiny because, over the years, I have realized I am a terrible hoarder by nature but an aspiring minimalist conceptually. The size forces me to declutter and select my essentials wisely.
The small brown wallet holds all ID needs and other plastic bank, discount and membership cards. There is always cash in my purse (inside the zipped pocket), a mandate passed on from my father, while the folded tissue is a habit inherited from my mother. Always, always (in every bag I own), there will be a pen, pencil or mechanical mark-making device because without the means to write, there is no realization of my self.
Other things are: a smartphone, my foldable instant bag-within-a-bag to avoid unnecessary shopping bags and expand my carrying space as required, Burt’s Bees to help my lips acclimatize to the Canadian cold, recently gifted Beats earbuds from my partner (which I don’t use much but felt compelled to enshroud in a case), as well as a whole bunch of expired ID and bank cards from Jeddah, a previous life that I am not ready to let go off yet.
Also here is the fob with the car, house and mailbox keys, digital library card, as well as a #1MOM keychain from Niagara, a gift from my son which has a domino effect of memories; an Arabian Nights tale within a tale of when we first moved – my entire extended family visiting Canada for a niece’s wedding, mum staying with me, our All-Fam trip to Niagara, multiple fights with my brothers accompanied by plenty of emotional breakdowns.
This keyring also holds a tiny nail clipper bought on a memorable trip to the Toji temple in Kyoto, Japan. It was a gift for my mother, and eventually returned to me; super-useful because I cannot bear my nails to be long, and they just won’t stop growing.
The Blue Ribbon “mouth freshener” is a talisman of my origins in Pakistan. It is never eaten unless I have another to replace it, so at all times, I must always have one. This is a mini-concoction of fennel seeds, coriander, sesame seeds, peppermint flavouring, and an unfortunate trace of saccharin – a cliched taste of home that is vital.
Reflecting on what I can read about myself from these artifacts, I realize I am sentimental even though I deny it to the world. Objects carry value for me based on the emotional content I fill them with and the degree to which I can mentally personalize them in a meaningful way. Each object is a bag, packed away with my values, emotional luggage and memories. Each one might be a book or story waiting to be read.
In a sense, these items tell the stories of my life to someone who could decode them, but like any text, they would change depending on the reader and their prior knowledge of the context and subtext. The Latin origin of the word text, denoting the act of weaving or joining together, thus really resonates with me and applies here.
Fifteen years ago, this bag would have been more oversized, messier and overflowing with bits and pieces of everyday items (trash) carrying immense sentimental value. There would have been a book to read, a copy of the Quran, a small sketchbook, and tons of paper-based items – bills, kids’ artwork and notes, lists, daily planner and calendar etc., most of which are now on my smartphone.
Interestingly, despite immense technological advances in our tools and my pretentious oft-voiced indifference to all things material, I realize I am primal in my outlook. Objects, especially those with texts and writing, inspire awe and a sense of mystery within me, even if it is ‘just’ an auto-generated parking stub from a machine. The weight of the ink, the balance of negative/positive space on the field, and the functional selection of typographic elements all fired with a shared sense of meaning to those who ‘know’ or can decode its purpose is an enchanted feat to me, no less, even though it may often get drowned out in the everyday rush of lives we live.