The Value of Tangible Items
Nostalgia kept me sane
COVID shook the Earth like a snowglobe and we settle where we settle. Since its outbreak, our resilience is tested. Our financial, physical, and most importantly, mental wellness is at stake.
Everything is pointed towards social distancing and my job in the hospitality industry became irrelevant.
In this industry, the stress level is at an all-time high. We make sure that services are at least satisfactory. We cover accommodation, banquet events, and casual dining. All is fast-paced. The pressure is on satisfying the guests.
Another stressor is the budget. We have to meet the monthly quota to keep the business, and our employment, afloat. Hitting the target is never easy.
The bottom line is we manage to survive. We provide rooms even when we’re fully booked. Par stock is kept despite last-minute groups. We try and hit the target even when there are a few days left in the month.
That was life six months ago. Because of social distancing measures, hotels have to follow unconventional protocols. Many had to close. All are restricted to book fewer guests — that is if they could. I am kind of deployed because there is no point in selling anymore.
All the things I have power over is beyond my grasp. From a very busy schedule to a complete blank. I was left clueless. At first, I felt like I was having a withdrawal from an addiction. I could feel my hands shaking for no reason. My body was rejecting idleness. I was restless. It took me weeks before I could sleep a full eight hours because sleeping was never my deal.
I am used to overthink things because it allows me to be ready of different outcomes. But this different. I have no preemptive measures for this kind of conflict. I had no solution. I was stuck.
Nostalgia was my salvation.
Without intending to, I found myself looking for small things to control. Like cleaning and rearranging the kitchen. Later, the entire house.
I opened all the boxes that I saw and unearthed nostalgic treasures. I found family pictures, old books, CDs, DVDs, and even cassette tapes.
I started rearranging the cabinets. The items that were, once upon a time, kept in a box are now on display.
The discs are stacked near the old radio.
The pictures are now in a photo album, placed under the TV, together with my magazines.
I obsessed over my bookshelf. I categorized, cross-categorized, and recategorized the books. I am tempted to do a Dewey decimal system.
Hyper organizing saved me from drowning in loserdom. Seeing them organized calms my nerves. A small success is still a success. Aside from that, these things have a humbling effect. They are reminders of a simpler time, of a less digital era.
I wallowed in an absolute nostalgia and reminisced for a bit.
Gone were the days of photo albums and wallet-sized pictures that we treasured so much. We were more careful to take good photographs because we had limited film.
Then, I had thought of CD burning. I’d considered it the epitome of high technology. I remember listing down 18 songs that I want to burn into a CD. Then CDs with larger disc space became available. 50 tracks in one CD? Man, I was living the dream.
Did you know that nostalgia is a serious disease? But it is proven to help ease loneliness, boredom, and anxiety (Tierney, 2013). I testify that it is effective.
It was difficult to adjust to this new normal. Many things have become irrelevant. At one point, I felt irrelevant. The career I was proud of became disposable. Unlike food and medicine, people can live without hotels. My thoughts went here, there, and everywhere. My head was a mess. General cleaning made a huge difference.
I can feel the house beating with some kind of energy to see the DVDs, CDs, and photos on display. These and my books scream history. And plenty of stories.
To keep me sane in the long run, I stick to a new schedule. This writing gig is one. When I lost my job as a hotel salesperson, I needed to assign myself a new purpose. I love my old job but there’s no use in crying over spilled milk.
Tangible items make me feel grounded. They are existential. They have shape, weight, and scent. They are both resilient and fragile. Their existence reminds me of our own. Some of them may be useless now, but they helped me regain my footing. If they can serve a new purpose, so should I.
Source:
Tierney, John. (July 8, 2013). “What Is Nostalgia Good For? Quite a Bit, Research Shows” NYTimes.com.
