MUIGAI K HARRISON
My attitude towards some personal documents borders on obsession. I feel jealous whenever I remember that my logbook is in custody of my bank manager as security to a loan I am servicing.
On the other hand, I do not see the logic behind filling out a wealth declaration form that would otherwise reveal the dark underbelly of my economic status.
What wealth do I have to declare? The form would just pass out as poverty declaration form in this context!
At home, during Boxing Day, I realized that my documents were in dire need of an experienced librarian. I have filed them haphazardly and finding a particular copy is really chaotic.
The only conspicuous document is a Christmas card as it is attractive and has the ‘jingle bell’ tune that emanate from it whenever it is fumbled.
Inwardly, I blame myself for the mess but find it tiring to take responsibility. I’m aware that my baptismal card is so battered that it could easily find a slot in a museum in Athens or Spain as a rare early writing specimen.
The culprit of its battery is none other than my little son, Fini he used it as a plaything and hit it against the table which lulled him to sleep.
He has no respect for documents whatsoever and today her dog-eared academic report book can attest to this shortcoming.
However I do not make much fuss of this as my baptismal name still holds and I ensure that I’m re-baptized every time a charismatic preacher visits our area – Joel Osteen, T.D. Jakes to name.
While we retain some documents biographical reasons, I feel that others like 1985 invoices for deals with Worldcom or Enron do not earn their keep unless you are an enterprising historian.
Why should my cabinets groan with the weight of bundles of wedding invitation cards long after the ceremonies are over? Not unless I plan to be a witness in a court of law when a spouse is deprived of their next of kin status by wicked relatives in an inheritance wrangle.
Moreover, those invitation cards are sometimes meant to flatter the recipients. In the part of the titles, the addresser has several options; Mr., Miss, Mrs., Prof., Dr. …one colleague addressed me as ‘Mr.’ but in real life he always referred me by my surname or worse by my schooldays nickname that I won’t disclose here to avoid stigma.
Whereas some documents should be discarded after a short time, others should be kept and guarded for years on end.
National identity cards for example should be safely kept and my grandfather knew better than let my grandmother overlook the importance of this card.
He used to tuck his and my grandmother’s ID cards in his ancient wallet which I suspect he pilfered from a colonial boss in his youthful days as a cook in a Briton home.
In the old wallet, other documents like fuel refilling cards fought for the limited space. Today I conclude that the wallet wasn’t a counterfeit as it never bust at the seams.
During national general elections, my grandmother would join a queue ready to exercise her democratic right and my grandfather would only hand in her ID and voters card when it was her turn to vote. He ensured that the documents were back in his wallet before they left the polling station.
He was once accused of vote buying when a hawk-eyed presiding officer saw him take the cards from Granny and handed her a dollar for vegetables.
If different people are stopped in the streets at random and asked to talk about their documents, you would be surprised at how obsessed they are with some of the past papers whose use they do not know.
While some would be shy to disclose then presence of a meal card, they used in college now neatly tucked in a corner of their cabinet, others would pride on letting you have a glimpse of the only airline they have ever bought.
Today make a point of perusing the docs in your possession lest you continue groaning under the weight of archaic and useless documents leaving no space for useful ones.
This post was created with our nice and easy submission form. Create your post!
