My Precious!

Shall I confess my weaknesses? How often they lie hidden, even from ourselves — especially from ourselves. Then, at certain moments, they reveal themselves with startling clarity. Moving house is one such moment, particularly when the move is abroad. Suddenly, painful decisions must be made. Do you pack this? Give it to a charity shop? Pass it on to a friend? Or simply throw it away? The pressure of time only sharpens the difficulty of every choice.

At such moments, we are forced to confront our own peculiar attachments — our little fetishes. Mine are notebooks, pens, and anything remotely connected to calligraphy. Even when my drawers and suitcases are already overflowing, I still linger longingly in stationery shops, tempted to buy more. Pens and pencils seem to call out to me irresistibly. Never mind that I already own a vast collection of fountain pens, complete with cartridges in every imaginable colour, alongside pencils ranging from soft 2B to velvety 6B. I buy ballpoint pens too, usually with an ultra-fine 0.35 mm tip. Once, I even bought a heavy rotary pencil simply because I loved its look and weight, only to spend weeks scouring the internet for the rare oversized 2B lead it required.

Another, perhaps more alarming, obsession is toiletries — anything connected with showering, shampooing, lotions, or potions. Every house I have ever left has contained at least three large crates filled with such things. I seem to accumulate them with effortless speed. Still, on the bright side, I have little interest in clothes, shoes, or handbags, so perhaps some restraint remains.

By now, you are probably thinking of your own particular guilty obsession. You know exactly where to buy it, which make you prefer, and how oddly reassuring it feels simply to have it close at hand. Like the wheels on a suitcase, these obsessions keep us moving forward. They comfort us in ways only we fully understand. When preparing for a major move, we mentally clear space so that the things that truly ring our bells can be given pride of place.

Letting go of possessions is painful, though often necessary. Yet certain objects cling stubbornly to our fingers, transforming us momentarily into Gollum — that wretched creature from The Lord of the Rings — clutching our treasures and hissing defensively, “My precious, my precious!”

Anxiously concerned with the needs of the age

Yesterday while walking through Valletta, Malta I came across a procession.  Lead by a pipe band it made its way through the narrow streets of the old city.  A group of children in long white cassocks followed and then adults with dramatic gowns and the Maltese emblem emblazoned on each shoulder.  Following them came a group of men struggling under the weight of a huge wooden structure carrying a cross and other figures.  Their walk was peculiar with a sideways sway to every step forward.  Then as they grew closer I saw the strain on their faces and began to appreciate the weight they were carrying.  At the corner of a street they lowered their burden and huge swollen patches on their shoulders were evident.  Not red patches but massive protrusions the size of two huge fists.  They looked sore beyond belief and suddenly the spectacle had ceased to hold any appeal.  It reminded me of the followers who scourge themselves for religious reasons.  I felt my heart sink, much as I tried and did admire the tenacity of their devotion.  It just seems to be that in this day our devotion much surely be shown in service to our fellow humans not in such practices.  Here on Malta there is a 80-year-old Franciscan priest who has been running a shelter for the refugees fleeing to Europe for forty years.  Being on the edge of Europe, people in makeshift boats head across the Mediterranean to find sanctuary and refuge.  The centre called the Peace Laboratory provides an oasis of calm and security to those who have nothing.  At a time when so many want to make their mark on the world, wouldn’t it be good if many more chose to serve humanity and became anxiously concerned with the needs of the age we live in.