The poorer the family, the more the things in the house seem to take root, accumulating more and more until there's hardly any space left to step.

Every wall in the room is nailed with countless small shelves, haphazardly sticking out in all directions, and they are filled with nothing but repetitive objects — two almost identical mugs, three pairs of similarly styled reading glasses, and even the clothespins can be found in five or six different models. No one can explain why so many were bought in the first place.

The kitchen is even more of a disaster zone. When the cabinet door opens, plastic bags are layered over plastic bags, large bags over small bags, resembling a string of transparent lanterns that can hang all the way to the floor; there are about twenty rags piled up, some frayed, some faded, with edges worn out, stacked next to the sink like a small grave. On the rarely used shelf, various bowls and basins are haphazardly stacked: an enamel basin with a chipped edge, a glass bowl with a missing handle, a stainless steel spoon that has been used for ten years, and even three plastic knives for cutting cake, just in case they might be needed.

When the drawer is pulled open, it can give you a fright. The instruction manuals range from a mobile phone charger to a microwave from ten years ago, expired cold medicine from three years ago, and electricity bills from five years ago all stuffed together, with a child's elementary school award certificate pressed underneath, the paper has turned yellow and brittle. Old batteries are stuffed into the cracks in the wall, broken shoeboxes are shoved under the bed, and even the gaps on top of the wardrobe are filled with crumpled shopping bags, as if afraid to waste even a tiny bit of space.

The freezer compartment of the refrigerator is like a "time capsule"; the frozen meat is rock hard, and the date on the packaging has long become unclear, leaving no one able to tell if it’s from last year or the year before; in the corner, there’s still half a bag of dumplings that have been frozen for five years, the plastic sticking to the drawer, yet one always says, "who knows, maybe one day I’ll want to eat them."

The wardrobe is stuffed so full that it won't close, with old cotton jackets, pilled sweaters, and shrunken jeans piled high. Clearly, I haven't worn them in years, yet I've bought four storage boxes to keep stuffing them in, and the dust on the boxes could write a word. In the nightstand drawer, the charging cables are tangled into a mess, old phones are stacked like bricks, there are a few leaking batteries, three sets of unused keys, and even a lonely lens, and no one can remember which pair of glasses it fell from.

In the corner of the bathroom, a half-basket is piled with shampoo samples and disposable toothbrushes brought back from hotels, the labels have all turned yellow, yet I always think "I might use them when I stay at a hotel," and as a result, I keep accumulating more, to the point where there's no place to put them even in the foot basin. The entire home feels like a drawer stuffed full, unable to breathe, yet I keep adding new "might be useful" items. #山寨季来了？#