There are plenty of reasons why people collect things. From the very beginning when our ancestors still lived in caves, they collected various things like berries, wood, or stones to survive the winter. But things are a bit different nowadays, foods are extremely accessible for us because we have restaurants and convenience stores spreading all over the neighborhood. And what’s more, more solid houses were massively built around our habitats to keep us from cold and danger. So why can’t we stop the urge to gather things that may be insignificant to our lives?
According to Daniel on liGo, there are two main types of people when it comes to collecting–the thrill of the hunt type and the nostalgic collecting type. The first type of person collects things because they want to feel the excitement when they lay their hand on a new find that wasn’t in their collection. After some time developing their collection, the thrill that collecting things originally brought them starts to wear out, this type of person then begins to gain pleasure by showing others what they don’t have. Another one is the nostalgic collecting type; they collect things because of love, which means that they have a special feeling about the object they collect. It may be caused by childhood memories or an unforgettable incident that eventually drove them to form a strong bond with the object. This type of person usually wishes to understand the things they collect more thoroughly by vast collecting. Or they simply want to see what other shapes, issues, or editions does it come in. The article also describes the habit of collecting as a feeling of falling in a bottomless hole (the thrill of the hunt type especially). Once you fall, the only way is down. And as you go deeper and deeper, you would get a feeling of incompetence even if your collection is almost complete, and so you fall even deeper.
Back in kindergarten, I used to collect two kinds of cicada shells that are very common in Taiwan. The Taiwan Bear Cicada shells with their two distinct cinnamon square areas horizontally embed on the thinner layer of its back, and Grass Cicada shells come in a much smaller size but with a more solid inner layer. I collected them not because I was interested in cicadas or because I liked to show off, and definitely not because of survival needs. I collected them simply because it was an important memorial for me to remember a special relationship I once had.
It was quite a normal summer back in 2006,
only 2 degrees hotter than average, the sun ruthlessly beats down on the city like a scorching hammer, determined and heavy. “Come on, don’t be a coward.” She giggles like a light summer breeze tickling the wind chimes, gentle, but still hinting that there is a portion of mischief hidden in between. She firmly grabs me by my wrist before I could even react, leading me into the deeper woods, continuing our adventure in this manor-like kindergarten. Looking for plants and animals has always been our favorite after-class activity, we often hang out in the forest, chattering about our dreams and picking random flowers, mushrooms, and cicada shells along the way. “Look! There’s one!” her voice floats smoothly like syrup on pancakes, pointing at a twisted Bauhinia tree. Although her bottom eyelids swell up as usual because of allergy, I can still see the sparkling universe lying in her gorgeous eyes. She then runs like a deer, directly toward a cicada shell she just found…
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Our hands came together, fingers laced, as we walked back toward the graduation ceremony. “Do you think we will still remember each other even if we were old?” she whispered as her tears starting to flood. “Always.” I squeezed a smile as I try to keep a stiff upper lip. It was a gentle yet heavy kiss she gave me as a farewell. She handed me the last cicada shell she found with me right after the kiss, before moving to Canada with her family two weeks later.
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September came like a bank of fog, cold and gloomy. Cicadas stopped their singing. Instead, they fell right back into the dirt and perished. However, part of us stayed forever in that afternoon. The only difference is that this time, we too have abandoned our shells, wandered carelessly within the non-stopping sounds of cicadas in that summer forest, 2006.
