Is my fridge too clean?
As I grew up and moved out, my fridge economized. My fridge is smaller now; it's sleeker and more stylish. The old plastic exterior has been modernized to stainless steel. A lot was lost in my transition; I miss the ice cube dispenser and the drink door I crawled in when we had to clean out the old fridge one year. Now there are no childhood photos from Hawaii, no magnetic klompen shop façades from Amsterdam. There aren't any
There's definitely not enough space for me to fit in the fridge anymore, despite years of contortion training.
There is, however, the same sense of clutter that I insist is actually organized. When I was young, I did not question the refrigerator. The magic of childhood somehow also enabled me to always find what I was looking for. Now it requires half a game of Tetris to fit in my weekly groceries and I still manage to lose things. Somewhere along the line, I have started to acquire my brother's talent for intuitively knowing the exact storage capacity of the fridge.
I could analyze the symbolic significance of the lack of adornment of my fridge. It could symbolize a desire to grow up, to appear stylish professional in the adult world. It could reflect my attempts to keep personal chaos sequestered inside cold, metallic logic.
But at the heart of the matter, I guess just seems futile to decorate something as transient as a dorm room mini-fridge.