My initial inclination, when dealing with this idea of presence in absence, was to take Debbie's suggestion and try to re-imagine a trip where I collected nothing...but I couldn't do it. My brain rejected it as unnatural, the same way it rejects vegetarianism, or calculus. Just kidding! Kind of. Now, I'm a pack rat, and I've already talked about my compulsion when it comes to amassing stuff, so my trouble imagining a trip without souvenirs shouldn't come as a great shock to anyone. As you'll see...I'm still kind of bringing this back to the physical (which is why I posted this separately). But wait! There's a twist.
I can do the basic math required of this exercise in imagination. I mean, this particular model of Toria doesn't come with Calculus, but subtraction comes standard (along with cupholders and air conditioning). So I can remember a trip, and then subtract the foreign objects I acquired during that period of time. Here's the problem: that's not enough to negate collecting. We're always collecting things, aren't we?
The first thing that popped to mind was my dad's green backpack, because it came with me on all my big trips last year. My dad loves this thing. Like, seriously loves it. It's been with him all over Africa/China/Antarctica/South America/You Name It, and he swears up and down it's the model of perfection in terms of size and layout. He thinks this thing has mythical powers. If Mary Poppins had a husband, this bag would be his incantation of the carpet bag. You get my drift. He lent it to me when I went to France, and I'm not joking when I say that he'd inquire as to the general health and well-being of his backpack at least every third time we talked.
And now, through only a little fault of my own, it smells like Givenchy perfume (not super manly). (Also, not my fault - faulty atomizer.) You can imagine that I've been given a sufficient amount of grief about this. I would like to take this opportunity to point out that the pack wasn't the picture of pleasant aromas before I got to it, but that's besides the point. My point is, I've added to the history of the backpack. The smell of that backpack is Croatia for me. I can remember exactly discovering the problem perfume bottle, and from there the rest of my trip spills out at my feet. In terms of the backpack, I also contributed tears, grease spots and frayed straps - and each imperfection translates roughly to a different leg of my interrailing. And fine, the backpack is a physical object, but I wasn't intentionally collecting anything - just changing what I already had. And isn't that the point of travel? To change ourselves in some way?
2 comments:
I had a teacher once who said that she always bought the stupid souvenirs on vacation. She said that they were the things that help you remember the trip. The stuff she bought was materially trash, but had a greater purpose. To help us remember. In this way souvenirs or things we collect on a trip are mnemonic devices. They aid us in putting the trip back together. If this is true, which I think it probably is to some degree, then even if we don't collect anything on a trip persé, we will still use something material to attach memory to (i.e….the backpack). I think it is probably possible to not actually, physically buy or collect anything on a trip, we will probably in return, simply attach meaning to something else (thusly completing the purpose of the souvenir in the first place).
So what I am trying to say is that because we know we use collections to construct the world, and because collections we make on trips are used to construct the memory of that trip, even if we don't collect anything physical, we will find something else to take its place. Does this mean that memory is not good enough on it's own? That we are skeptical of our ability to reconstruct our past? And that consequently we need something to help us out? Maybe.
You said, "Here's the problem: that's not enough to negate collecting. We're always collecting things, aren't we?"
This doesn't really have anything to do with class, but this statement of yours reminds of me the movie, "Silence of the Lambs." Wait let me explain.. You know the part where Dr. Lecter (sp?) asks Clarice what and why Buffalo Bill kills people.. she says some text book psychoanalytic response that is unimportant. Lecter says something like, "No. He covets. And how do we covet things?" Clarice doesn't understand until the end of the movie when she says (again paraphrase), "We covet what we see everyday."
This sounded a lot better to me before I wrote it.. but your comment about constantly collecting reminded me of that cool movie.. and they definately say something like "we all covet what we see all the time everyday."
If I'm Banks in your book then you're Dr. Lecter in my book. Take That!
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