Middle Age Crisis and the Other Versions

A Table

Once upon a time I had an aged table. My father used it when he was a child and I learned my school lessons using it. Now I’m 39 years old and when I work with my papers at the modern new desktop, I often thinking back on this old Soviet furniture and… feel something special. That is like deep immersion into my distant story, into the bright part of my life.

I left hometown many years ago and of course parted with my table. I don’t know where is it now and what happened with it. My apartment has a new owner. But very often, almost every time when I sit down at my new wonderful table from IKEA, I catch myself thinking, that with this renovation I lost a subtle link with my past, with history, with my own story.

I don’t know how I could explain this phenomenon. What is it? – be bored about and what does lie in the deep essence of being bored? Once when I was a student I wrote down in diary, that I wish only one thing: good working table and time to work. Since that moment my desire didn’t change and in the dreams I want to get my table back. I want to bring back my old desk and not another one, like the hero of Marukami wanted to find an old slot machine from his youth.

Why the old items, that could be broken or destroyed many-many years ago, arise such reminiscences, that suddenly make life volumetric, take us back to the past and have other sort of influences? Well, it could be kinda of middle age crises or something like that and this dull monologue could be absolutely bullshit. But they exist – the ideas of things outside them.

Anyway, do you miss about your child painting or school friends? I think that things are very important and they are like a magic stick, that helping us to compare ourselves with unrealized us and rate us with all our new tables or another useful items, bought yesterday.

I am inclined to believe that items should live their own life like my table should have the kind of posthumous fate, such as Hell or Heaven. Things not die. We are killing things, but they are alive in their worlds, the worlds of ideas.