My gold necklace broke last week. I hadn’t taken it off once since my grandmother gave it to me five years ago, and I was surprised by how uncomfortable having a bare neck made me feel. I’d come to think of my necklace as an unchanging component of my appearance, an extension of my physical self. Though on some level it seemed silly, getting upset over a broken necklace, my reaction made me realize that I relate to material objects on a much deeper level than I would have ever expected.
The idol on the necklace is Ganesh, the elephant-headed Hindu god. He is one of the most beloved gods across India, and his presence is supposed to bring success and prosperity. My grandmother gave me the necklace when I was 16 years old. I was a wallflower, painfully shy, preoccupied with school and stressed out about the upcoming college application process. I appreciated the gift because I was in a time when I needed all the success and prosperity I could get.
I’ve changed so much since I was 16. I’ve heard that the body’s cells are all completely regenerated every seven years, and though it hasn’t quite been that long, I do think I’m a different person from when I first put the necklace on. In high school I was a theater kid, I exercised, I didn’t use swear words, I barely ever watched TV and chemistry was my best subject. None of those things are true about me now. Most aspects of my appearance have changed as well. I got my braces off, drastically cut my hair, gained 20 pounds and watched my tan skin color change from light to dark to light with the passage of every season.
And yet the necklace provided continuity. When I look back at old pictures from the past phase of my life, I can see the same necklace peeking out under my clothes at prom, high school graduation, the first-year ’80s Dance at Whitman and every other picture from every other normal day of my life. The necklace was like a constant, linking together all the different people I’ve tried to be over the past five years. No matter what happened to me, it would always be around my neck. The same old necklace for the same old Anu.
When I was in middle school, one of my friends told me that I should never wear makeup because people become dependent. She said that women who wear makeup every day describe feeling “naked” without lipstick. At the time, I thought it must be profoundly stupid to change your appearance so consistently that you forget what you actually look like. And yet, that ended up being how I related to my necklace. I generally don’t think of myself as attached to material possessions, but I felt like that necklace was part of me.
Wearing the necklace gave me confidence and a sense of security I never noticed until it came off. Without anything around my neck, I felt exposed. I had nothing to cover my chest and nothing to fiddle with when I got nervous. Though it was a very small part of my appearance, and most people probably didn’t notice it, I felt like I could hide behind it. The feeling of having a chain constantly rubbing against my neck was so comforting and familiar. It’s interesting how easy it is for familiar things to become unquestioned. After going two days without my necklace, I started wearing a different one just so I could have something there until I get my old one fixed.
The first thing I did when my necklace broke was call my grandmother. Even though she is currently in India, on the opposite side of the world, and long distance calls are both expensive and difficult to time, I felt like I needed to talk to her. It’s a necklace, but it’s also a tangible connection with someone I love. It reminds me that there is someone who cares about me and believes in me. I feel like she’s there with me, and I don’t have to face anything alone.
Until it broke, I only thought of my necklace as a thing. However, now I realize I thought of it as a connection to my grandmother and an extension of myself.
