Dust

I hate dust. Not only does it give me some terrible allergies, but I hate the smell of it. I dislike knowing its there. It makes things feel, unused. It’s one of the reasons why I find it easier to commit to activities after I’ve made an investment in them. I can’t see dust settle on anything. It’s why I have difficulty staying still as well – because I know that it means there’s dust settling someplace. What dust has always represented to me is the under or unutilized. The untouched. The uncleaned. The past. It’s always represented something that could be better used, or be better serviced. I think it’s one of those things I inherited from my dad, but when I’m in the mood to clean up, I clean up things pretty well – because knowing that something is untouched, bothers me.

So everytime I come back home to dust in some part of my house it bothers me a lot. I spoke about this with my mother, lamenting the fact that although the place is maintained really well there are these small specs of dust in the most unreachable places that frustrate me. She said something poignant in response. The fact that dust has settled doesn’t necessarily need to be looked at as something untouched from the past, or something negative. It should and can always be looked at as something untouched because you’ve moved on from it – from the past into the present and to the future. You’re doing something else now that necessitates that dust settles on the past. And that’s okay.

It’s small, but its representative of how I think I’d like to be living. Maybe one day I’ll celebrate dust, instead of sneezing at it in disdain.