By Jill Alphonso

T-SHIRTS. Jeans. Shoes. Bags. Even jewellery.

That was the laundry list of things that I hauled off in bags to the Salvation Army recently.

Why? Well, my apartment is so stuffed to the gills that I swear I can hear a shuddering sigh, a heaving as things shift in my home, to make room for any new acquisitions.

Lately, the thought of so much stuff began weighing on me.

Opening my closet doors, fishing around to look for a dress or a blouse, hidden deep in the bowels of the space, was getting a little - oh I don't know - annoying.

I ignored the feeling. I let it go on for months. And then I realised I hated the way I was living.

I've watched Oprah Winfrey shows - the ones where she brings in a specialist in order to help people get organised, to throw out those things they've stored in their garages and closets.

In fact, I helped a friend clear out her cluttered home last year, and we marvelled at the things that we found - old stuffed toys still in their wrappings, crocheted childhood dolls' dresses and mouldy dish towels.

I knew, of course, what was happening to me. I was hoarding.

And those things were stealing my peace, eroding my sense of well-being.

I'd wake up in the morning and literally have to not think about the things in my closet.

And so, two weeks ago, in a bid to learn to live with less, I threw the doors open and began to toss.

I ruthlessly pruned my collection like a gardener gone crazy with a chainsaw.

My motto was: Don't think, just chuck. If you have to think twice about an item, you don't need it.

It took three trips to the Salvation Army to get rid of it all (and they got a good deal - there were branded items in those bags, too).

Tired, sweaty and feeling slightly deranged, I left my bags at a drop-off area filled with unwanted things - broken fans, torn books, even a mattress.

I hesitated once. Could I leave those beautiful, barely-worn heels here?

What about that Gucci tank top that was calling out for me to save it?

Then, I thought about the space I'd have, the life I'd have, without those things.

And, perhaps, someone else would find, and love, those things I don't need.

Many spiritual teachings advocate simple living.

The Yoga Sutras of Patanjali, for example, advise "not having a lot of unnecessary things around yourself and not hankering after what other people have", noted Yoga Journal in a recent story on pared-down living.

What that means is to keep only what you need, and to want only what you need, said the journal.

My mother is the master of this art and, thus, the art of chuckery.

In my youth, she was so zealous about throwing things away, she'd accidentally toss something she'd just bought.

"Where's that mug?" she'd say, wandering through the house.

And she'd find it in the trash, along with the plastic bag it came in that she was so eager to get rid of.

She's also a master at living with less.

Her home is Zen-like.

There is nothing there she does not need, and she does not want more than what she's already got.

I wonder why I didn't inherit that gene.

But I know what I want now: This feeling of being just that much lighter.

I am learning that there's a grace in having less, and thus in having more space in my life.

So, I'm thinking about those full drawers, and what might dwell within them that I can chuck.

myp@sph.com.sg

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