Unpacked: A Walker Returns Home

I am a kitchen knife. Not a butter knife, a chopping knife, or any special sort of knife. I’m just a knife. My only defining characteristic is my neon green handle. I am a kitchen knife, and this is my story.

I was born in China, manufactured together with thousands of other knives identical to myself. Five years ago, I made the trip from China to Israel, together with scores of cutlery and other kitchenware colleagues. The journey was bumpy and dark- I spent it locked in a wooden crate- but I passed the time by dreaming of a new future in a foreign land cutting foreign foods.

My serrated blade is of the finest stainless steal. My handle, like I said, is plastic- not rubber or some ergonomic material like fancier knives. But to date, I’ve never slipped or been dropped, and I have never cut the person holding me and cutting with me. I cut well, and serve those who request my assistance.

After just a few months on a shelf in a Jerusalem market, I was purchased by Yannai and Chana.

When I got home to my drawer that day, I was excited and hopeful. I looked forward to years of faithful service. I envisioned gliding deftly through a large chunk of cheddar cheese and gracefully slicing through a tomato. I’d imagine chopping onions and taking stems off of mushrooms. And I would dream of the refreshing coolness of dripping dry after being washed, surrounded by my fellow silverware, our heads popping out of a silverware strainer, all of us proudly awaiting our next usage. I was young, ambitious and on track for a bright future.

Or so I thought. That was four years ago. It’s funny to think how naive I was. After four years of sporadic use, I’ve lost the innocence of youth. As a seasoned veteran of the stuff community, I know now that reality has us stuff accumulating, piling up and often going unused, without ever fulfilling our potential.

I now find myself surrounded by other knives. Knives for bread, knives for fruit, knives for this, that, and everything else. There is a cheese cutter, a grater and a peeler. I look at them and wonder- I can do everything that they do. Why are all of us needed? We just take up space in a drawer, provide our occasional service, and then get shoved away, waiting patiently for our turn. I try to look shiny every time my drawer is opened. I flex my blade and try to look sharp. But rarely am I chosen.

I recently noticed that Yannai and Chana bought a vegetable knife, with one of those “grippy” handles. I feel so old-fashioned in the drawer next to this knife. The truth is, he barely even makes it to the drawer. He’s always either being used or sits freshly washed in the silverware strainer.

I get jealous, but then realize that he is still young. He is proud now, but he too will be replaced before he needs to be, and will sit right next to me in the drawer.

I sometimes think, “I shouldn’t complain. At least I am not disposable. I have my health. As a serrated knife, I have my original sharpness. I should appreciate being used every once in a while.” But I just want to know: Why do they need so much stuff? Why am I not good enough?

Over the years, I’ve met lots of stuff with stories similar to mine. I identify well with a navy blue polo shirt, who finds his home in another drawer in the apartment. This polo shirt hoped one time to clothe Yannai often, and make him look good. He heard that Yannai loved navy blue and was sure to clothe for years. But now, he sits at the bottom of a drawer, surrounded by clothes he thinks look the same and function the same just as him. So I am not alone.

I do not write to you so that you can save me. My time has passed. Yannai and Chana now have knives better than I.

I write to you, though, in the name of my fellow stuff.

Please: When you get stuff, use it. We’re here to serve you, to cloth you, to cut your food. Please look at us for who we are. We might not have the most advanced handles, or even a designer logo. A commercial might not have been made about us for years. But if we cut, cloth, heat up, provide, chop, scoop, cover or keep fresh, realize that we serve the same functions as newer versions of us.

Before the next time you go out to get new stuff, take a good look at your old stuff. Stuff are people, too. Well, maybe we are not people, but we have souls. Well, maybe we don’t have souls, but we have some sort of spiritual root on High, I just don’t have consciousness, so I can’t tell you what it is. But I do know that some holiness is there, and I ask you, a human, who does have consciousness, to see it in me.

So before the next time you get up to leave for the store, take one last look at your old stuff. Is it still valuable? Does it still work? Think of me, a kitchen knife, and my story, and remember: It’s not easy being stuff.

Did you enjoy this post? Subscribe via RSS feed. Thanks for visiting!

Tags: Challenges, City, knife, Stuff, Walking

This entry was posted on Friday, January 18th, 2008 at 12:00 am and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.