From Hand-me-Downs to Leather Couches (and more)

Eye-Opening Moments are real-life stories of adversity, encounters, and perspectives intertwined. In this episode you will hear about From Hand-me-Downs to Leather Couches & The Heavy Load.

Website: https://inspiremereads.com
Books: https://amazon.com/author/emily-kay-tan.2021_

Chapters

• 0:21 Introduction
• 0:59 From Hand-me-Downs to Leather Couches
• 10:12 The Heavy Load
• 19:06 Key Takeaways

Transcript

Hello and welcome to episode #194 of Eye-Opening Moments where you’ll hear stories of adversity, encounters, and perspectives intertwined. They are moments that can lift your spirits, give you some food for thought, or move you. For the introspective mind that likes to reflect, discover, and find solutions or meaning in a complex life, this is for you. I’m your host Emily Kay Tan. In this episode, you will hear about From Hand-me-Downs to Leather Couches & The Heavy Load.

From Hand-Me-Downs to Leather Couches

I thought wearing hand-me-downs, buying Goodwill furniture, and renting my first apartment was the life of a poor person. So, as I started my career after college, I worked hard to advance and afford to buy my own clothes and things. Nine years later, I lived in a house with leather couches, oak furniture, hand-made oriental rugs, and a husband. Did I arrive? It wasn’t all my own doing, so I did not consider it my progress. Seven years later, I divorced, bought my own house, and got new leather sofas and oak furniture. It was my doing alone, but was that progress? Maybe it was progress because I could afford it, but did I arrive?

When Auntie Cassie and Auntie Tessa handed me their clothes, I cheered joyfully for the free clothes. I thought myself lucky and loved. As a teenager, I learned that my aunties had given me their unwanted clothes when they bought new ones; they didn’t give them to me out of love. They gave me what they wanted to throw away. Since I wasn’t working, I could not buy my clothes, so I lived on the hand-me-downs. When I began my career after college, I started buying my clothes. It was a joy that I could choose what I wanted, and it was not someone’s trash dumped on me. I thought I had arrived.

When I bought a yellow-flowered three-seater couch from the Goodwill store, I was happy that I could buy it with the money I saved while working part-time during college. It was in good condition, like new, and I could even stretch my legs and nap on it on a lazy Sunday afternoon. When my young cousins came to visit, they could sleep on it as it was a sofa bed, too. Proud of my sunshine-yellow sofa, I had it for nine years until I got married and gave it to one of my brothers, graduating from college. After marriage, Hubby and I bought a set of light beige leather couches. I thought I had arrived.

My first apartment came with an old dark brown coffee table. The edge of one corner was chipped to reveal that it was brown laminate covering on top with particle wood underneath. I was glad for something free and didn’t worry about putting my feet on top of it, but it was an ugly piece of furniture. After getting married, my husband and I bought a glass-top coffee table with gold-colored legs. I thought I had arrived.

Fresh out of college, I bought a bedroom set with a bed, dresser, bureau, and desk with a bookshelf. It was white framed with yellow drawers. The bright yellow brought sunshine to my first abode and matched my yellow-flowered couch. I was pleased with the furniture. It was easy to clean as it had a smooth laminate covering with particle wood underneath, much like my coffee table. After marriage, my husband introduced me to quality furniture or natural wood. I thought I had arrived.

Since my husband and I liked similar furniture, I still bought oak furniture after our divorce. I was proud to be able to purchase 100% natural oak. My dining table, chairs, bookcases, entertainment center, bedroom piers, bureaus, and dresser were all oak. Complete with new leather couches and oak furniture I bought for the home I purchased myself, I was sure I had arrived.

Ten years later, I needed to relocate after a failed business venture and a devastating breakup. That was when my perception of my possessions got a massive overhaul. I had accumulated many things over the years, and moving everything out was overwhelming. 

When I first bought new furniture after a divorce, the delivery people moved them into my house. But when I needed to move out, the weight of the furniture struck me hard. The couple who came to buy my bedroom set could not move it and did not understand why it was so heavy. I told them it was natural oak! They returned with three other guys, and each took a corner to move the pieces of furniture. Several people came to look at my one-piece entertainment center, which housed my television and many other things. It had drawers at the bottom and cabinets on each side. Some were interested, but even four people could not move it, so I left it in the house. Luckily, my leather couches were easy to move with only two people. Lesson learned. The real stuff, like oak, was too heavy to move. I vowed not to buy natural oak anymore. I also asked myself why I bought it in the first place. I reflected on my moving experiences and questioned my choices. 

When I was poor, I bought cheap stuff and got freebies. The inexpensive furniture was not too difficult to move. When I could afford it, I purchased more quality furniture, and it was hard to move. Huffing and puffing in my attempts to move them, I thought about my decisions and my reluctance to hire professionals to move my things.

After emptying and selling my house, it was as if I had withdrawal symptoms of depression, emptiness, cravings, and aches. You know the feeling if your stomach ever growled from hunger, and if the starvation weren’t satisfied, you would feel the insides scraped and emptied. I emptied my home, and the insides of my body were hollowed out while the outside of me was nude. I had worked many years to accumulate all that I possessed, and then I sold, donated, and threw most of it away. My heart dropped to the floor and broke into many pieces.

Pulling myself together and drying my tears secretly, I moved abroad for a new beginning. That was when I began to have a new outlook on hand-me-downs, used furniture, cheap furniture, and quality furniture and material. I had stripped myself of nearly all that I owned; what was left of me?

Though I had few possessions to my name, I discovered I did not miss all my beautiful furniture, clothes, and other belongings, and I could live without them. What did it all mean? I could do without them, and I didn’t need them to make me happy. So, why did I chase after working to “arrive”?

Perhaps I wanted to own possessions that said I had “arrived” or succeeded in life. I didn’t know society had told me that was what I needed to do to show I was moving up. Stripped and soaking in tears, I wondered what I had or required to be happy or to move forward. Thinking I had nothing but was still breathing, I realized I still had me.

The new me in my new abode did not have much to maintain and had few chores. Though I worked long hours at my job, I had free time to explore new places, travel, enjoy my hobbies, and leisurely sip coffee or tea and chat with others at cafes instead of cleaning my place or other daily things. Living a carefree and worry-free life I had never experienced before, who cares about those quality pieces of furniture or even owning a home anymore? I have more freedom than ever; it is more precious than any material possession.

Through my new lens, I see furniture as just furniture. It stores my belongings. It doesn’t matter if it is cheap or expensive. I take care of my things and they always look new, so what does it matter? I care for them because I never forget when I was poor, and I am grateful to have what I have, regardless of its quality. I also see clothes as just something that covers my body. I want it to cover my body; I no longer care to impress anyone, and I am glad to have it to keep me warm, hand-me-down or new; it doesn’t matter.

It took losing most of my possessions to realize I didn’t need them all, and it made me grateful. I no longer complain about not having quality furniture; I am thankful to have furniture. I no longer grumble that I don’t have the latest fashionable outfits; I appreciate that I have enough clothes on my back. I stopped moaning that I no longer have a car because I have two feet to walk and catch a bus, train, or subway. Not caring to acquire more material things, fewer burdens weigh me down. I celebrate that with fewer belongings, I have fewer things to maintain and more time to indulge in my passions, such as writing, podcasting, and exploring new places. The greatest treasure to behold is the freedom to spend more time on what I enjoy. Most invaluable is time; how do you want to spend your time?

The Heavy Load

Strolling down the street with my empty luggage to the supermarket fifteen minutes away was easy and light, but pulling home the grocery-filled luggage was heavier and harder. I huffed and puffed as I ran across the street with my filled luggage before the traffic light turned red. Safely on the sidewalk, I slowed down to find a public bench. As I sat down to take a quick rest, I fumed inside because I felt like a poor person buying food and laboriously dragging it home. But in the next moment, I laughed out loud remembering a trip I took to the Haymarket in Boston with Grandma Sandy when I was a kid. I mused how I could be angry and then happy about a return trip from grocery shopping!

Many years ago, when I was still in elementary school, Grandma and I took the subway to Haymarket, an outdoor market with many street vendors. It was just another Saturday morning when I did errands and chores with Grandma, but this particular errand left a laughing imprint in my memory. It can still make me laugh now, but it is no laughing matter when I think more about it. 

Grandma probably took me with her because she needed help, and I was not busy working like my aunts and uncles. Nevertheless, I was her companion for many chores and errands. One sunny Saturday morning, I went to the Haymarket with Grandma. We carried big empty bags on a subway train, which took nearly an hour to get there. Grandma was beaming with excitement. She said the fruits were large, juicy, and cheap. The vegetables were also large, fresh, and inexpensive. There was a wide selection of fruits and vegetables. Some vendors sold dried nuts, fruits, and candy. Other vendors even sold small plants and big potted plants. There were many things to buy; they were a feast to the eyes, and my mouth watered. 

I couldn’t walk without bumping into someone because it was so crowded. The nine-year-old me held on to Grandma’s sleeve for fear of getting lost in the crowd. Some street vendors hollered on the left, and others screamed on the right for people to go to their stalls. The noise and the crowd were dizzying. Grandma and I didn’t talk; if she did, I would not be able to hear her! We were both too busy looking at the variety of things sold. It was difficult to see as we were jam-packed like sardines and moved along like gentle waves getting pushed by other people as we all tried to navigate through it all. 

Grandma soon filled all the bags with her purchases and said we had to go home. She carried two large bags, and I handled two bags, too. As we walked from the market to the subway train station, we could feel the weight of the bags getting heavier and heavier. I could hear Grandma breathing heavily. The heavy load was hard on her; she was not young. The enormity of the bags was hard for me to carry; I was too small for the large bags. Then Grandma said, “Let’s stop and rest.” We weren’t far from the train station, but the heavy load made it seem far. We stopped and sat on the dirty sidewalk because there was nowhere else to sit. We were too tired to care about getting our pants dirty. What happened next was what left the laughing imprint in my memory.

Grandma said, “The bags are too heavy. Let’s eat and carry some of the food in our stomachs so we don’t have to carry it with our hands. Grandma laughed, and I laughed, too. There we were, sitting at the edge of a dirty sidewalk and laughing. Grandma said it was the mangoes that were heavy, so she took a couple out. She used her bare hands to peel the skin, and the ripe and juicy meat dripped down her hands. I did the same, and the juices dripped on my hands, too. It was so juicy and sweet; we had to have another and another. We each ate three mangoes, and our bellies were full. Our hands were sticky and yucky, with no wet tissues to clean them. Our hands and pants bottoms were dirty, and we couldn’t clean them there. Though our hands and bottoms were unclean, our tummies were full and satisfied.

Grandma tried to get up from near the ground but could not stand up. She said her stomach was so full and heavy that she couldn’t get up now. We both laughed louder than the previous little laugh about eating to carry some food. I stood up to pull Grandma up, and off we went to the train station. That trip to the market with my grandmother stayed in my memory bank. It is funny when I think about it. Even though I still laugh when I think about it, I also feel sad in the next moment.

Flash forward back to the present. Whenever I need to go grocery shopping, I feel annoyed and reluctant to go, but I need food to stay alive, so I go. I told a few friends about it, and they wanted to know why I got angry and hated grocery shopping. I only paused a moment to explain. I said I didn’t enjoy carrying heavy things and walking simultaneously for fifteen or more minutes. I didn’t like lugging it upstairs to my apartment. It reminded me that I no longer had a car to drive to the supermarket. I no longer had a garage to drive into and then put my groceries away in the kitchen several feet away from the car trunk in my garage. That comfortable life is a distant memory now. I had a house, and I no longer have one. I once afforded a house, and now I can’t. The transition back to the USA, where the cost of living was higher than what I enjoyed abroad, did not help. 

In the present, I am living abroad again. No car and no house didn’t bother me the last time I was abroad because I lived in a convenient location where everything was within a ten-minute walking radius. Even catching a bus or subway was within that time. But this time, I am no longer in a more convenient neighborhood where everything is within a ten-minute walking radius. My walk pulling luggage to carry what I will buy at the market makes me feel poor, or poor again. My walk pulling the heavy groceries home reminds me of when I was poor and had no car. I didn’t want to go back in time and think about when I was poor and had to walk and carry my groceries up flights of stairs. I advanced and moved ahead, but now it feels like I reverted or went backward. I had worked hard to get a more comfortable life, and now it is no longer, so I am angry!

As I recall the many times walking and carrying groceries with Grandma, I laugh, but now I realize how hard it was for my grandmother to raise a family on a low income. We went to the Haymarket because food was cheaper and fresher there, and it delighted Grandma that she could buy more for less. But Grandma had to walk, take a bus, or train to carry all the groceries. I never saw my aunties or uncles help her. Only I was with her. I never thought of myself as doing much to help my grandmother, but now I realize I did help, and I am glad. I did something good! We had a few laughs together; they are happy memories that stick in my mind.

When I change my perception, I can change my attitude and feelings from negative to positive. The next time I go to the market pulling my luggage, I shall smile and be glad I thought of using my suitcase to carry my groceries instead of my bare hands. I can appreciate the walk that gives me more exercise to stay healthy. I can revel in having the means and the option to hail a taxi if I want. I can also eat a piece of fruit or two and hold it in my stomach before walking back home; it is my tribute to Grandma’s creativity and sense of humor!

Though I could be sad about the heavy loads endured, I also have sweet memories of eating mangoes with my sticky fingers with Grandma on the dirty sidewalk. Though I have returned to walking to get groceries, I can appreciate pulling the load instead of carrying the load. It reminds me to be grateful.

Key Takeaways 

Though I progressed from hand-me-downs to leather couches, losing them gave me more freedom and time to do what I enjoyed.

Though walking and carrying groceries home with grandma as a kid was no fun, I can now appreciate using a suitcase to pull it and get some walking exercise.

Next week, you will hear two real-life stories called The Aftermath of a Divorce & Like a Porcupine. If you enjoyed this episode of Eye-Opening Moments, please text someone and ask them what they think about this podcast, or go to www.inspiremereads.com and leave a message. Thank you for listening!