The rubbish hoarder.

Rubbish wasn't always rubbish. Maybe a product of dubious quality, but in the beginning it was something. It served. It killed a momentary hunger, covered a need, worked as a patch. But inevitably it became rubbish. I am a hoarder of rubbish, of things that should have been thrown out, of what no longer serves.

Sometimes I know perfectly well that rubbish is only rubbish. That it doesn't matter if it was once useful, if it once made me happy — it no longer has that function, it's just dumped in a corner of my room taking up space, and even with fond memories attached to that rubbish, it really serves no purpose beyond occupying room that could hold something new, or could perfectly well be empty. But I'm a hoarder, and that makes me think that sometimes the rubbish could work as retro decoration, that I could recycle it and turn it into something new. And only when the rubbish proves to be a bigger problem than the nostalgia I feel do I throw it out. Sometimes I throw it out thinking about its potential to become something else — “if I had more time”, “if I had better tools”. Sometimes I blame myself for having ruined the product and turned it into rubbish, but if it hadn't been me it would have been someone else. Rubbish wasn't always rubbish, but once it is, the smart thing is to throw it out and free the space, so that maybe something that doesn't spoil with time can move in.

Gabriela Oyara