Welcome to Objectively, a series about people, the objects that hold meaning for them, and the stories they tell.
Leading with curiosity, the project is interested in objects as extension and embodiment of selves. We want to give space for people to reconsider their relationships with things, maybe acquiring new understandings of themselves in the process.
In our ninth edition, we have Dax Ko recounting turning points in his life, like when his view on umbrellas forever changed after a single encounter, and how losing a half-mark in a test taught him a poignant lesson he may never forget.
Dax Ko is a Singaporean living in London with a way-too-long list of home foods that he misses. He is a nerd that gets obsessed with learning more about people, objects, hobbies — leaving him with too much trivia about unimportant things, and not enough about important adulting things.
Imagine you could be any object. What would you want to be?
I would want to be an unexpected, seemingly innocuous object that instills wonder or simply puts a smile on your face. The umbrella pictured is a free gift from a designer store I shopped at about four years ago, and I would guess that most people would also have umbrellas in the form of free gifts, or ‘stolen’ from somebody that had left it behind. It was really my trip down Central London yesterday (for wine, not brollies), that had completely punctured my world of umbrellas.
Brightly lit, sparsely but intentionally merchandised, with an enigmatic name of London Undercover. “Surely hipsters aren’t into umbrellas these days” is what I thought to myself as I was sucked into this umbrella store.
There was an air of confusion and curiosity as I asked the staff about what made these umbrellas special, and as she went on about the different ranges and materials, occasions for them, and the environmental aspect of their repair policy, the floodgates were open and I couldn’t stop myself from asking even more questions. I felt like a kid in a candy store, gripping every umbrella in sight, caressing the plethora of fabrics.
I can’t look at umbrellas the same way anymore, but I know everyone deserves that feeling of childlike wonder.
What would you be in object form?
Not just any keyboard, but my keyboard. I love my keyboard for all of its quirks, scars or scratches, and how it makes me feel. I love my keyboard for more than just what it can do (i.e. not simply type this sentence). It’s ridiculous and excessive, and not everyone would understand its value, but that’s okay. I often think that not many people would really understand me either, but those that do, do. And they do so with acceptance of all my flaws. I am imperfect, but I am loved.
Can you tell us about an object that holds memories for you?
It feels weird to call this a handkerchief — feels like a fake word to be honest. But I can’t say hanky and feel like a grown adult, so I’m stuck. This and my long collection of handkerchiefs hold too many memories, and unfortunately, only range between neutral and traumatic.
I have sweaty palms, palmoplantar hyperhidrosis really. And the only reason I’m being pedantic about specificity here, is because I have too many memories of dismissive conversations with people who simply cannot believe my hands can sweat this much. “My hands sweat when I am doing (BLANK) too!” “There are plenty of people with much worse problems, get over yourself.” Contender for the worst response would simply be “Ew.”
The most important memory however, comes back to the origin of the handkerchief. I was 6, getting results back for an exam, and my amazement at an almost perfect score of 99.5/100 soon turned to sheer disbelief when I saw where I had lost that half mark.
A huge red circle over the space where my sweat had torn the paper, leaving me to write the rest of my correct answer next to it. This was not just my first lesson in needing a handkerchief to even write, but a lesson on how differently I was going to be treated.
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