I had been watching the Marvel movie, Dr. Strange: At the start of the movie, he is a sucessful surgon –he has status, respect, fame, wealth — he is on top of the world and its worldly conditions. But then he is in an accident, he injurs his hands and he is unable to continue performing surgery, he loses his fortune, his fame, status and respect, he falls low in the world. When he was at the top, he collected watches and though he sells most of his stuff when finances get tough for him, he holds onto a single watch that holds meaning to him.  One day, he is attacked in the street and the attacker tries to steel his watch, Dr Strange cries out that it is “all he has left”, and though he is able to fend off the attacker, the watch is broken in the process. Dr. Strange’s heart is clearly broken as well.

This one scene, it deeply moved me. Afterall, I can relate — just like Dr. Strange, I assign meaning to my objects. For him, that watch was more than glass and gears, it was an object that represented his whole past life, his former fame and fortune, it was part of an identity that he had lost, though continued clinging to it nonetheless. But the truth is, a watch is just rupa, there is nothing more to it than its parts, there is no meaning tucked in and hidden amongst the springs. The meaning, the value, is something external, something that we apply, the meaning isn’t in the object, it is in our heads alone.

When I consider my beloved stuffed animals, I can see the truth that their value is not innate: These objects, so precious to me becasue they were gifts from Eric or my dad, wouldn’t raise more than a few bucks at a garage sale. Afterall, objects are only 4 elements that, in certain states, under certain circumstances, and for certain times, have utility, not value, not meaning.  But me, I am moved by each item in my home, by the stories they conjur in my head. I am moved by mineness.

The real question is, why am I so moved minenss? Isn’t claiming (the process of making something mine) just the process of arbitrarily picking an object to be me/mine/represent me? It could be a watch, a house, a city, a car — it really doesn’t matter what bundle of 4es I choose– I assign value to them, value and meaning, that I use to curate my sense of self, just like Dr. Strange’s watch represented his identity as the prodogy surgon.

When I watched Dr. Strange, I got myself carried along by the story, began to identify with the character, the meaning that watch held, it felt real and relatable. But when I stepped back, I saw it is simply not true, a watch can’t possibly be all you have left of who you are, becasue a watch is not in any part who you are. A watch is no more than the sum of its physical parts, there is no identity to be found there.

Our beliefs about these objects may be untrue, but the dukka we experience over them is still vivid and real.  As those robbers came creeping onto the screen, I felt fear; as Dr. Strange cried out when his watch broke, I felt his shattering loss. But just like meaning, the pain of loss is not in these objects, it exists only in our hearts and our hearts are in our power to change.