I have moved from room to room and building to building so many times in the past two semesters that currently my room is filled with unpacked boxes and empty drawers and because of that for this exercise I have decided to sort through my pens. I chose my pens because I always have at least five with me at all times and in my room I have all of them in my pencil case on my desk. My pens are accessible to me at all times so I figured why not choose a category that means a lot to me, but at the same time something I don’t think much about unlike my clothes for example. I started off with 54 pens which when I thought of just in terms of the number 54 I did not think that it was a lot, but in comparison to how much it looked when I had it laid out on my bed it felt like there were a lot more pens. I should perhaps also mention that I chose to sort through my pens because I was aware that out of everything in my room they were the things I was willing to part with if needed be. In a way, I did it to intentionally save myself from the pain of either sorting through my books or clothes or perfumes. By the end of going through my pens I had decided to throw out 8 out of the initial 54 and the ease with which I was ready to part with them was striking. I felt no pain or loss or happiness or fulfilment while choosing which ones were of no use to me anymore and I think this ease is because the reason I had for discarding them was practical and logical: they had no function anymore because the ink had dried out.

I honestly expected going through my pens to illicit more emotions from me but I only realized things or vaguely remembered some memories that are now long faded and some non-existent as I was sorting. One of my realizations was that whenever I was testing out which pens had dried out ink I wrote “hello” on the notepad placed next to me. I had vaguely noticed this habit in the past, but this time it was noteworthy. It is as if I am introducing the pen to the pages and myself; a first impression of some sorts. I am not entirely sure why this became a pattern but it did and I thought it was so interesting that out of all the words I know the one word I would constantly use was “hello.” Another thing I noticed was the way in which the colours of pens I own are the same repeating colours: blues, greens, oranges, reds, and blacks. While I have a reason for buying different coloured pens (to colour coordinate my planner and get creative and colourful notebooks) I still expected more variability in the colours I chose. The most important thing I noticed, however, was that most of the pens I own are not really mine to begin with. The pens were either given to me or I had taken it from a friend or something. The ones I bought or remember buying are so small compared to the ones I got from people or from events I have attended in the past couple of years. It is almost mind blowing to think of owning so many pens and giving them each a function or saving them for a function would turn out to be pens that I got from other people. I find it puzzling and almost disturbing because here I am placing so much pride and value in the amount of pens I own yet I barely really own any of them.

While going through my pens I realized that they serve a purpose of just existing and for some reason that is comforting to me. Why would pens give me comfort even though I do not feel any particular emotion towards them? I wish I knew but I think finding out will say a great deal about me and how I collect and store objects.