What’s The Oldest Thing You Own?

Plinky.com asked this question a while ago, but I just saw it yesterday. If any of you were familiar with plinky, then you would know that it is a website that provides prompts for bloggers. Bloggers do experience a block sometimes, not knowing what else to write, although lately I seem to be experiencing the opposite of that. The ideas keep coming and I’m not sure how to stop them. Help, I’m developing OBD (Obsessive Blogging Disorder)! But hey, I’m thankful for websites like plinky because I do like some of those prompts, and one apparently caught my eyes.

So what is the oldest thing I own and is currently with me right now?  Okay, that got me thinking. I racked my brain yesterday trying to make a mental list of all old belongings I have, including the ones stored in the storage. This is harder than I thought because I have lived in two countries, thousands of miles apart, and some objects that I thought I had with me turned out were left behind when I came to this country almost 21 years ago. I specifically remember this one t-shirt, white in color, that my high school gals and I bought one time. Each one of us bought one of the same type t-shirt, same color, just probably in different sizes according to our body size. I still have a picture of all of us together wearing our shirt. It’s too bad that I apparently left the shirt behind, which I’m sure it’s nowhere to be found now.

After a few hours of thinking, I finally got it. There is one item now that I remember dragging it all the way from Indonesia to here. How could I forget it? It’s a guitar. My roommates in college probably remember this guitar. There’s a story behind the guitar, which will probably shed some light as to the reason why I dragged a guitar across the ocean, and mind you, I have moved around I don’t know how many times in this country…with that guitar in towed. How many places have I lived within the past 21 years, you ask? Let’s see…give me a minute here…(2-3 minutes passed)…I think I have lived in approximately 14 places, which means I have done 13 moves. Yikes!

About the story behind the guitar… The guitar was actually bought by my parents not for me. It was for my older brother. It’s a Yamaha guitar, a typical guitar for a beginner. The age of the guitar is probably close to 30 years old, granted that it was brand new when it was bought. My brother took a guitar lesson after the guitar was bought, but if my memory serves me right, I believe he only took about a few months of guitar lesson before he gave up. He then neglected the guitar. It was laying around in the house for another 4 or 5 years before it traveled around the world.

I didn’t take guitar lesson with him at that time. Instead, I was enrolled in another type of musical instrument lesson. Over there, we called the musical instrument “organ”. No, not the big organ instrument that you can typically find in some churches in this country. The organ instrument I played then was a Japanese made. It’s much smaller in size.

As in many, if not all, cases of the extracurricular lessons I was enrolled back then, they were not my choices. At least, I didn’t feel like they’re my choices. Somebody else usually made the decision for me, and I went along because… *shrug* because I thought I should. Anyway, before I started writing this post about the guitar, I started to ask myself why in the world did I bring the guitar with me? I came up with two answers.

The first answer is very obvious to me. It was the only reason why I decided to bring the guitar with me back then, because I couldn’t trust that the guitar would be in the house for long (aka. forever) if I left it there. You have to know my mom first of all in order to understand that statement. My mom has a tendency to throw away old things, except old pictures (thank goodness!). The second reason just came to me last night.  Well, apparently I harbored a secret desire to want to play guitar at that time, instead of the one I was enrolled to play. Yup. And ironically, ever since I left home to attend high school, I never played that musical instrument anymore. I can probably still play it now, but I’ll be very rusty for sure.

So when it was time for me to leave my home country, I decided to rescue the guitar. It has stayed with me loyally too and never broke, even after 13 moves from one city to another, from one apartment to another, from one airplane to another, from one moving truck to another. I probably should give it a name now since it’s been a part of me from the beginning of my life chapter here in the U.S. If anyone has a suggestion for a name, please share.

Now, after everything I have told you here, there’s a catch to this story. I have one more important disclosure to make, and it may surprise you (or not). For those of you who know me well, it may not come as a surprise, but here it is anyway. Ready? Okay, drum roll please…..

I don’t know jack about guitar, including how to play it.

I know, that’s okay. You’re not the only one. I don’t understand me too sometimes  😀


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