For the last few months, I’ve been clearing out my parents’ house. It’s been somewhat of a titanic shit show, as the more I stuff I believe I got rid off somehow still doesn’t equal more space in the house.

Both my parents grew up during the aftermath of World War II, when chicken for christmas was an expensive treat and stuff was hard to come by anywhere. Add to that the fact that Mexico used to have harsh tariff (or downright block) outside goods, so even a silly ass bar of chocolate from another country (Mars bars, Snickers, etc) was expensive to come by, if not downright impossible to get.

As the layers of dust came off old luggage, still new t-shirts, and still packed ties, I just feel this immense sadness come over me. I see bags of stuff never worn, never used. Why for? It’s all getting donated, that’s for sure, although I might keep some stuff for myself.

I had lunch on my own and pondered about both my parents, the hardships they grew up and the moment “they made it”, even if they never realised it. They could get what they wanted for…but only hoarded it for harsher times that never truly came.

Somehow Pinback’s Loro gave me some sort of respite. While lugging out bags of old wrapping papers, ribbons, and shopping bags, Rob Crow’s quiet shushed lyrics made me feel somehow better. It’ll pass.

-Sam J. Valdés López