Helping J with the move

Em stepped into J’s apartment and saw a messy living room floor littered with unpacked boxes, shoes, bags, and other belongings. The kitchen table behind the sofa was scattered with paper towels and utensils, leaving almost no room to eat. Although she had expected that the day before J’s move to New York would be hectic and stressful, Em was still caught off guard by the scene. She immediately realized that two laborious weeks lay ahead of her. Without saying a word, she rolled up her sleeves and plunged into cleaning for the next two hours while J was away at her last two art classes.

This was only the tip of the iceberg. Over the following two weeks, they sorted through nearly everything J owned. Together they decided what should travel with her to New York and what had to stay behind. For the rest, they had to determine whether it could be sold, given away, or simply discarded. Em cleaned pots and pans, electric cookers, fans, and shelves so J could photograph them and post them on Facebook Marketplace to see if there were interested buyers. Thanks to the platform, most items sold quickly. A large stainless steel pot went for $10, the vacuum cleaner for $15. Each time an item was picked up, Emma felt a small sense of relief. A “like-new” item selling for $15—compared with its original price of over $100—was only a fraction of its value, not to mention the mundane labor Em had put in. Yet she hated to see things wasted and potentially polluting the environment. She often thought to herself that collapse under the weight of humanity’s relentless appetite for consumption. 

She had never expected J to be as frugal as she was. The generational gap, cultural differences, and the consumerism J was exposed to sometimes led to small confrontations, widening the distance between an aging mother and her independent daughter. Em kept her mouth shut, but her hands never stopped. She worked late into the night, scrubbing greasy stoves and countertops, wiping dusty shelves and corners, until the pain in her back finally forced her to stop.

They donated the bed, sofa, lamps, and clothes, and gave away cooking spices, food, detergents, body wash, chairs, the mattress, and electric fans to a Chinese couple Emma did not know personally. Among the things that were kept or sent home in packages, however, there was one item Emma rescued from a pile of trash—a notebook filled with J’s neat handwriting, notes from her job interview preparations. To J it might have been just another notebook, but to Em, it was proof of effort — hours of quiet determination written line after line. In Em’s garage, she still kept J’s childhood writings, drawings, and workbooks. She cherished them, as if by doing so the past would not completely slip away. Looking at them from time to time brought back fond memories. Perhaps one day they would mean something to J as well. Aren’t emotions and memories priceless—the silent forces that bind us together as we move forward in life?

On the day they left the city, they rented a large SUV to accommodate three checked suitcases, three carry-ons, and three heavy bags. Em saw them off at the airport for the red-eye flight, tired and a little sad. Her own flight was not until 7:20 the next morning. Dragging two heavy suitcases to a rest area in the airport, Em spent the night lying on a yoga mat atop a stone bench. The night was long, and the early hours were cold. She curled up on the short bench, wrapped in her coat, dozing on and off until it was finally time to board her flight home.