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If you’re an avid Netflix-watcher, life-organizer, or overall tidy-enthusiast, you’ve probably heard of the KonMari Method. Developed by expert, author, and star of the new series “Tidying Up With Marie Kondo,” this method of cleaning is aimed to transform your living space and your life. In the new Netflix show, Marie and a translator visit a new family each episode, and help them to organize various belongings and get rid of junk. I, for one, am drawn to Marie’s respectful and orderly fashion; it appears that everything she says and does has a clear purpose. At the end, the participants find themselves happier, and their relationships are stronger, also bringing joy to the viewer. Who knew that this show could be so alluring? (I may have spent three hours cleaning my dorm room after watching a few episodes).

The simple approach centers around this philosophy: if the item does not spark joy, throw it out (after you thank it!). It also encourages people to start with clothes, then books, miscellaneous items, and finally sentimental items.

On first glance, the KonMari Method seems extremely simple; I was a skeptic at first–why is the concept of tidying up driving everyone wild? The central idea of KonMari speaks volumes to people around the world to change their lifestyles and declutter. Its effectiveness comes from the significance Kondo places on mindfulness. A lot of times people find themselves accumulating things they don’t use over the years, piling up in their homes. Taking the KonMari approach allows you to reflect on your belongings and life experiences, while moving on to a new chapter.

So, take some time to relax, tune in to Marie Kondo’s Netflix series, and perhaps go to town on your living space after. And don’t forget to be thankful!

“You look very comfortable in water”, said my dive master as we surfaced from the first scuba diving practice. The waves were rough that day and I was constantly swept away by them as we practiced breathing using the equipment. Like a small dingy on the ocean, I was being slowly washed back again to the shores.

I suppose he was right, I am comfortable in water, perhaps because I had learned swimming when I was smaller. Later, I was chosen as the 12 people who get to dive off a small island near Tioman. The view underwater was nothing like the earlier dive, numerous fishes dotted the corals, two turtles were spotted during the entire time we were diving and a castle of corals everywhere. Forget snorkeling, diving is clearly a superior experience.

When first diving underwater, 7m below sea level, you have to remember to breathe. Clearly, you would die if you forgot. Breathing is different when you have to only do it through a mouthpiece wired to oxygen. The cold oxygen dried my throat, made me feel a little anxious about remembering to breathe but soon after I was breathing without consciously reminding myself to as the marine life caught my attention.

Although I couldn’t replicate the diving experience back in my apartment swimming pool, I definitely skimmed the floor of the pool when no one else was around, taking a deep breath before surfacing. I did some laps, practiced my freestyle and most importantly, I never forgot to breathe.

Oh, if only I could read a person as easily as a book. If only their personalities were as solid as black typed letters and their intentions as clear as a blank white sheet. If only they didn’t shift so, back and forth, until you wonder if you are the one whipping back and forth. If only you could re-read a situation until you found its secret meanings, instead of having to endure endless fleeting conversations that never quite satisfy. Interactions with people, real people, always feel as if they are moving a few seconds too fast. It is a lot to process sometimes, when a friend is chattering away. What is she saying with that tone? Why did she use this word instead of that? Can I ask for a few moments of silence while I am analyzing, endlessly analyzing? The difference between a person and a book is that a book will always give you time. It will move at your pace, straight forward always. A book only has one ending in mind, while a person is an endlessly splitting path. All I am asking for is some consistency. All I am asking for is some patience. Just give me some time. Enough to figure out what you mean, enough to let me gather my sprawling thoughts into a sentence, so we can talk like human beings.

 It is not as if I wouldn’t be fair. I would let people read me too. I would allow them to peruse freely through my past, flipping through the chapters of youth and adolescence and adulthood. If I could, I would spill myself like a glass of milk so I could avoid the awkwardness of trying to explain myself one awkward word at a time. There would be no need to explain the insecurities that come out as barbed sarcasm, no need to apologize for the absent-minded gap in the conversation when I got distracted by another passing thought. But there is always something that stops me too. I hesitate because I, too, cannot express who I am. So, I understand. I understand that there will never be a way to guide someone else into the maze of my own head. I sit in the classroom every day, next to so many minds, twisting and winding like so many strings. And all I can see, all I can read is the barest exterior. An intense stare here, a nodding head there. Oh, if only, like a book, we could understand and be understood.