​A friend gave me a pencil labeled “magic wand.” The pencil told me I must train my magical powers well in order to cast spells smoothly. Strands of hair on the floor whisper softly, urging me to get up, to move, to vacuum the floor. The air conditioner said its blinking temperature display each night is meant to lull me to sleep beneath a shimmering sky of stars. The mirror told me yesterday that my pale skin was beautiful, but today it says I look sallow and dull, in need of care. They’re all like people—they repeat themselves, yet also change their words.

Life speaks to me through the things around me. But ultimately, what they say is my own voice, speaking to myself.

Objects are symbols in themselves. They may represent universally shared meanings, or serve as projections of personal experience. By perceiving and sensing their objecthood, we begin to hear what our days are quietly telling us.