The space in my Lower East Side apartment is by no means unlimited. Every one of my belongings and those of my girlfriend fit into our 250 square foot abode, but that was not without struggle and some compromise. Organization has never been a personal strong suit and has only become more difficult since moving into a smaller space. For me, coordinating my belongings through different bags relieves some of the stress. I currently have a few bags in my collection, each with different shapes, sizes, and purposes. From my olive green, compact school backpack, which barely fits all my supplies, to my worn-out gym bag, with its outside net pockets ready to burst at the seams, my bags ground me in a life of constant motion.
There is one bag in particular that holds special sentimental value to me, and I make it a point to always keep it with me. It is made from poorly constructed nylon, and its space is far from efficient, so practically speaking, using the bag really makes zero sense. Aside from the primary cargo area, there is just one small outside pouch with a crumbling zipper. The two handles at the top are not long enough to carry over the shoulder, so the only option is to uncomfortably lug it by your sides.
The travel bag, as I typically call it, has a paper-thin, royal blue exterior with a fading Carnival Cruise Lines logo on the front. It is almost always sitting in my living room, and I find myself constantly tripping over the bag, yet I never choose to move it. Unlike my other bags, this one does not have a true purpose, and I usually create an excuse to use it in some way. Sometimes I use it for groceries, and other times it houses my clothes when I occasionally travel back home to the Jersey Shore.
That fading logo towards the front of the bag is where its personal significance comes from. Many might look at Carnival Cruises as a family vacation or a quick getaway for college kids on spring break. For me, however, it represents my life, and that is not because I love the cruises so much, but rather that they are the reason why I am alive.
Both of my parents worked for Carnival and traveled around the world in their twenties. By either fate or simply coincidence, they were scheduled on the same ship, started dating, got married, and had me all within five years. My mother is from New Jersey, and my father grew up in Oregon, so the ship is the only reason they ever met.
When I was born, my mother returned from sea to raise me and eventually my brother. My father, however, has remained on the ships, playing the saxophone for Carnival over the past thirty years. I only get to see him for a few weeks out of the year, so the bag tends to be a reminder of him. Sometimes I think my reasons for keeping and using the bag are corny and perhaps childish. However, my family means a lot to me, and the bag points out how it all happened.