The Great Hoard Reveal: From Pappa to Me

For the longest time, I’ve had a solid complaint against Pappa.

He hoards.

Old torchlights. Stray sandals. Rusted screws stored in cough syrup bottles. Hotel soaps from the early ‘90s. If there’s a “just in case” item, trust me—he’s got it. Possibly in duplicate. With an extension cord wrapped around it.

Our attic? Overflowing.
The garage? Less ‘garage,’ more ‘museum of miscellaneous’.
Me? I was the designated eye-roller and drama queen.

“He needs help,” I’d say. “He can’t throw anything away!”
I’d moan to my sisters. Rant to my friends. Vent to my sweet, ever-patient counsellor.

Then… karma.

One innocent day, I went looking for a pen.

Bag 1 had a pouch with 6 pens and 3 highlighters.
Bag 2 had another pouch.
Then I opened that drawer.
By the time I stopped counting, I had uncovered five bags of stationery: gel pens, brush pens, glitter pens, vintage pencils, wax crayons, novelty erasers, mini staplers, washi tape, correction tape, 14 types of glue, paper clips shaped like butterflies and unicorns...

And that’s when it hit me.

I hoard.

But wait—there’s more.

I also hoard cosmetics.
Not casually. Obsessively.
I have makeup to do ten full faces. Possibly Ravana’s—if he ever needed a glam team.
I have foundation in five undertones. Lipsticks in thirty-seven shades (some identical, but you know they’re not). Glitter I’ve never worn. Nail polish I keep “just to look at.”

Still not done.
I also hoard…

T-shirts.
Soft ones, oversized ones, concert ones, thrifted ones, ones I might wear someday.
And the ultimate kicker?
I have a T-shirt that says: ALL YOU NEED IS LESS.

Let that sink in.
I wear it while sitting on a pile of things I clearly don’t need.
Groan. GROAN.

So I sat down with all this (literally), and told my counsellor. She just smiled. “So… maybe you have a bit more compassion for your dad now?”

Sigh.
Yes.
Fine.
Absolutely.

So here’s what I’m doing. Slowly. Kindly. Without guilt or self-shame.

• I’m sorting my stationery and making teacher kits.

• I’m donating makeup to theatre groups or shelters.

• I’m letting go of T-shirts I haven’t worn in 3 years.

• I’m saving one drawer for joy, not ten.

Because hoarding comes from love. From nostalgia. From hope. From a sense of “what if?”
But giving—giving is love in motion. It says: “I trust this can bring joy elsewhere.”

So here’s to letting go.
Here’s to learning.
Here’s to Pappa.
Here’s to me.
And here’s to Ravana—blessed with ten perfectly contoured faces, wearing a shirt that says All You Need Is Less.