Today’s Prompt: Tell us the story of your most-prized possession.
It’s the final day of the challenge already?! Let’s make sure we end it with a bang — or, in our case, with some furious collective tapping on our keyboards. For this final assignment, lead us through the history of an object that bears a special meaning to you.
A family heirloom, a flea market find, a childhood memento — all are fair game. What matters is that, through your writing, you breathe life into that object, moving your readers enough to understand its value.
Today’s twist: We extolled the virtues of brevity back on day five, but now, let’s jump to the other side of the spectrum and turn to longform writing. Let’s celebrate the drawn-out, slowly cooked, wide-shot narrative.
How long is long? That’s entirely up to you to decide. You can go with a set number — 750, 1000, or 2000 words, or more (or less!). Alternatively, you could choose your longest post thus far in the challenge, and raise the bar by, say, 300 words, 20 percent, three paragraphs — whatever works for you.
Well now is as good as any to play fast and loose with the rules I guess.
I don’t have an treasured possessions. I have possessions per se but none that I treasure. I have possessions I appreciate. Some I like, like my wireless Sony Headphones. Some I need, like my inhalers. Some I love, like my flat with its privacy and my comfy warm bed. There is nothing I possess which treasure but there is one thing I own which i always keep with me which me which makes me feel better.
I’m a wannabe sufi.
Im a wannabe because I know Im not. A sufi is as at peace with everything, everyone and God.
God knows I’m not.
I have a theory about raw spirituality from a street level perspective. I imagine it as a secret book handed down through the ages, “STREET RULES APPLY”
The first rule is “You only own what you’re strong enough o hold onto to”
For the literal minded and hard headed that’s a call to arms. Might equals right.
For the broken hearted it means that you can’t hold onto anything, not even your life
Depression and disappointment has made me reflective and a little ascetic. I value quality, sufficiency, comfort, innovation but not for its own sake.
These are my prayer beads. They are the only thing I own I’d cry over if they were lost or stolen. There were hand made for me by a friend but that’s not the only reason why they’re special. They’re made of some sort of rare wood but thats not why they’re special.
If prayer and lintanies are a lettrer to God then this is my signature.It’s like my keyring for enetering peace.
Every object I have loved or treasures has become lost to me. So I have learnt asceticism the hard way. I’m not poor, Im not homeless. Quite the opposite. The way I value things is different. I don’t rate cost or price. Quality and meaning is my yardsticik of value.
The map of Barbados that my stepmother bought me on my first trip to Barbados has pride of place on my wall.
My pair of £350 Sony headphones I got for free to test and never gave back. The depth of sound opened my mind to different nuances of music and I started listening to all types to try them out and I like what I was hearing. Like a man who eats curry for the first time and then goes on a gastronomic tour of the world.
I long ago realised I can be a little fragile.
Same way a heamophiliac can bleed to death from a shaving cut is the same way a depressed person can end up in the foetal position if they lose their keys. They just can’t cope.
I treasure very little that is physical in this world. Anything I truly need I keep two of so that don’t worry about its loss. My regimen of supplements, mind and meditation means I’m better but this will never change. I’m a plastic seal ripped from the world that can never be put back as it was.
I value effect, not cause. I value meaning over words. I value feeling over touch. I value memories over experience. I value swathes of colour over brush strokes.
I value brush strokes over brush strikes. It’s all in the technique
In my mind there are no straight lines, I grade reality on a curve.
I think in mysterious ways, my thoughts have pitch and swerve
The world is velcro and I’m tearing myself away
Thanks for tea, gotta go. Gotta vamoose, run, amscray
I want to be all that i can be, Dreams are not enough
No more never mind, maybe,