Liv Hambrett

Germany + Australia + Culture + Motherhood + Home

Travel + Life Abroad

Why My Possessions Define Me

In creating a new home in a new country, I realised the other day, I am in essence creating a second life. It’s all a bit James Bond-esque. If I was fighting grand-scale crime with a British accent and unlimited funds. And I realised this as I was assembling a wardrobe. The action that precipitated the realisation isn’t as unrelated as you might initially think. A wardrobe has come to be a sort of symbol in this Veränderung. A wardrobe means you have settled for a while. It means you’re no longer living out of a suitcase. It means you’re putting down roots. And as I lovingly hung up my garments in a proper, stable, all-mine-with-two-doors wardrobe in my very own, brand new bedroom, I couldn’t help but think of these new roots I am putting down – and of the old ones I have already put down, on the other side of the world. And the complexities (both charming and challenging) involved in being dual-rooted.

Starting afresh in a new country with just a suitcase and a Netbook, I have come to believe we are, contrary to zen mantras, significantly defined by our creature comforts, the things we possess because we love them and they affect our sense of happiness and security. I believe this, because without my own creature comforts around me in a place I was calling home – my quilt, my books, my vast collection of university jumpers – I had a period of feeling strange and unattached. And I immediately sought to rectify this by installing new creature comforts around me. Buying books, jumpers, big mugs for tea. Vegemite. And keeping sentimental items in plain view – hair clips, rings, an almost-empty bottle of perfume. It’s not that I am materialistic, nor do I solely define myself by my possessions – but I rely on them to remind me that I have homes, I have my own style and more than anything, I have a history. Possessions are the tangible reminders of things that, when you feel unattached, afloat, help anchor you.

Sure, I think longingly of the cocktail glasses I have in storage. And my shoes. My perfume. The photo frames, mirrors and vases, Vanity Fair magazine collection, Gavin & Stacey DVDs. All the things sitting in plastic containers, waiting for when I am ready to return to my other life and make another home. But, with my new wardrobe, a growing shoe collection and the feeling of great comfort these possessions provide, I’m quite content to continue furnishing this life. Somebody, get me to the bookstore.


  1. Fiona

    25 November, 2010 at 7:47 pm

    Just stumbled across your blog, and had an instant affinity – I’ve just relocated to Germany (Berlin) from Melbourne, and just today said to my partner that things are starting to feel ‘normal’ again. Yes, that means buying a wardrobe, and in my case, nothing can make me feel more normal than having baking equipment – which I had just bought when uttering those words to my man. It’s small things like knowing I’m not going to have to re-pack my backpack (that I’ve been living out of for the past 5 months) for at least a year, and being able to drink green tea whenever I like. Will be following your adventures in schoenes Deutschland! Cheers.

  2. livhambrett

    28 November, 2010 at 9:10 pm

    Ahhh how lovely to hear of such instant affinity – you know exactly what it’s like. It’s all the little things, really, isn’t it? Like being able to catch a bus without the bus driver calling you up on SOMEthing (wrong ticket, wrong entrance, wrong change). And the wardrobe, oh the wardrobe. Good luck with everything, and enjoy Berlin.

  3. Anchors « A Big Life

    19 October, 2011 at 9:34 am

    […] a wardrobe, a bedside table, a chair and some candles. I began to realise how just important possessions are to me, in providing a sense of stability, of comfort and of history. Books followed, as I discovered I […]

  4. cassmob

    1 June, 2012 at 12:16 pm

    I’ll bet that little of what you use to define home has great material value. They’re probably things that you identify with, your adventures, your sense of self. And of course a Bavarian wardrobe requires very different clothing from an Australian one, or probably even a Greek one. Courage! (in a French accent of course).

    1. Liv

      3 June, 2012 at 6:28 am

      It’s this little core selection of furniture, I think, that represents progress as much as anything. Starting with a bag and a borrowed bed, beginning to gather little things like a bedside table and a bookshelf and bed linen – material things, yes, but also of sentimental value. I LOVE my bed linen sets over here, will always be fond of them because of how thrilled I was to buy them and for my room, my little place, to start taking shape. It’s the little things!

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