This is not the first time I have been posed with the prompt, “If your house were on fire and you could only save three items, what would they be?” This is, however, the first time I have sincerely and thoroughly tried to formulate an accurate response.
I’m going to presume that if my home were on fire and I could only save three items, cats, like people, do not count. Even if this were not the original case, I am electing to now make it so because if the cats did count they would be my only selection, and also I could not possibly choose between the four of them. I am further going to presume that “backpack” is not a valid option, since in the case of a real fire I would probably sweep as many nearby objects as possible into a bag, but that would defeat the purpose of this exercise.
The underlying question, “What is most precious to you?” is a difficult one to answer. My family, my friends, knowledge, happiness, and the stories I write, but most of these aren’t tangible, and in the given scenario none of them need saving. Of my possessions, I value a great many things, from collections of plush and books and ceramic dragons to pins and favorite T-shirts and a hand-carved wooden quetzal that was given to me by a friend. In truth, however, painful though it is, most of these are replaceable.
My first instinct, and my first choice, is to save my laptop. While it is technically also replaceable, in that all of my files are backed up to be accessible from other devices, it also means a great deal to me. My computer is my school, my library, my most consistent and unwavering connection to the world, and where I transcribe the worlds of words and wonder in my mind. I suspect, in the ensuing chaos of losing a home and most possessions, I would desperately need all of those in arm’s reach.
It may sound childish, but the next most important thing I want in arm’s reach is a stuffed animal. Specifically, Cilantro, the alligator I bought at a Cracker Barrel when I was nine, and wrote a book about the following month. A fairly short book, only about ten thousand words, but a book nonetheless, and that experience (along with his virtues as a pillow) makes him the particular one of my many beloved plush that I would save.
My last choice I knew would be sentimental as well, but what exactly proved a greater challenge. I factored out the replaceable: favorite books and blankets, my clarinet, the necklace with my Mayan astrological sign. Of the remaining, there is a piece of jade I carved while I was in Guatemala that I seriously considered as my third, but decided against. Jade might survive fire; my eighth grade yearbook most assuredly wouldn’t. Not only does that carry the significance of fond memories, but it was also my last year in the public school system, lending extra weight to the well-wishes and farewells in the cover, as well as the reminders of friends I now less frequently get to see.
“If your house were on fire and you could only save three items, what would they be?” is a difficult question to answer, and it becomes even more so the longer you consider it and the possessions you usually take for granted. Despite this, if I could only save three things I do not believe I would regret choosing the items I did.
