Growing up in a big household where items owned never truly belonged to you but got shared or handed down to younger siblings, I learnt the art of letting go quite early. The things that I appreciated most and guarded jealously were those novels that I bought with my meagre pocket money that my dad gave me in the days and what I earned from doing odd jobs.
I have always viewed material things as just being ‘material things’ that one can always replace. Searching the pits of my memory, there’s nothing that I recall having such attachment to except one plastic doll that I vaguely remember and can no longer recall what happened to her.
a cooking pot and twisted tales 