Two years ago, at the age of 19, I moved out of my parents' house in the province to a high-rise condo in the city. Barely out of college, the only clothes that I had were baby tees that barely covered my upper arms and my stomach, skintight denim pants and flip flops. FLIP FLOPS.
Armed with my meager allowance, I bought basic button-down tops, black slacks and ballet flats to fit right in the working world and I have never looked back. From my cheap, tacky and hopelessly trendy college clothes, I rocked clean, crisp and professional corporate attire. I felt that my new mature and polished look helped me earn more trust and respect.
Eventually, I realized that I didn't want to look too serious. My goal was to look sweet, feminine and youthful. To do this, I filled my condo closet with the aforementioned lace, florals and ruffles in whites, neutrals and soft pastel colors. I avoided cleaning my closet at my parents' house for as long as I could because I wasn't ready to face the sentiments associated with my old clothes.
I know it seems silly but these clothes are the only remaining reminders of a time and place that I have said good bye to. I wore this shirt to the freshman orientation, while I wore that pair of pants on the very last time that I held your hand. In a way, I feel as though these things still connect me to you. If I lose these things, then I lose you. I was able to put the dreaded task off for a while until I knew it was time to let everything go.
After three hours, I decided to give away almost 50 pieces of clothes that are 1) too used, abused or no longer fit, 2) reminders of bad people and experiences and 3) not consistent with my current lifestyle and preferences. It was a difficult process but it truly freed and liberated me. I made room for new clothes and new memories.
