I Finally Understand Dora the Explorer

I have been remiss as a blog writer. I have left out probably the single most important person in my life in all of my posts and I am truly ashamed. He has sat by my side patiently, watching me write, hoping his name would be mentioned. At night, I am sure I have heard him weeping from the neglect he's suffered at my hands. He whom my soul loves has supported me through the long year abroad and it is time I introduced him.

He--this glorious, wonderful, supportive, kind, forgiving, expansive one--is my backpack.

Are you laughing? You shouldn't be. You should be so lucky to have a backpack like mine!

I am extremely picky when selecting a backpack to purchase. I meticulously examine numbers of pockets, zipper placement, laptop sleeves, colours and patterns, straps, and fit. Many are rejected and few emerge as true contenders. It's basically American Idol-Backpack Edition. Obviously, I'm Simon Cowell with a bit of Randy thrown in (Dude! You're my DOG!).

My current backpack is everything I could wish: white and green, with a green, turquoise, and pink pattern of swirls, hearts, spirals, and--best of all--birdies! It has padded straps, three layers of zippered pockets as well as a smaller, zippered pocket on the very front, which is my designated key pocket. Every day, when returning to my room from a slew of intense research, adventuring, or shopping, I take comfort in the familiar motion of walking up to my door, swinging my backpack off my shoulder and around to a secure resting place on my hip, and reaching into the front packet to extract my pleasant, jingling keys that offer the promise of entrance into my home. This small routine, though it might seem redundant and silly, is my favorite part of the day.

I truly do not believe I could have survived the past months without my backpack. It holds my life within its infinite zippers. He has been a book bag, fashion accessory, grocery holder, pillow, jacket, pseudo-kangaroo pouch in a bizarre animal impression, and confidant.

When I moved from California to England, he was there. He carried my dearest treasures on my back in a physical hug as I said goodbye to my family, my friends, and everything familiar.

When I arrived in Leeds, he endured smashing into walls, being dropped on the floor, and getting kicked to and fro as I wrestled my belongings to my dorm room, then to another dorm room when I moved, then the final dorm room when I moved for the last time (I'm usually not this needy, I swear!).

When Callie and I went backpacking in the Peak District, he held all my valuable possessions conveniently out of the way (though there was a brief moment where he unfortunately trapped me between himself and a rock due to my overpacking him, but we got through this obstacle: see photo below).

Most recently, due to the submission of two assessed essays and dissertation research, my backpack has been extra heavy. He never complains, but I do. I have taken to walking gorilla style: doubled over, with my arms hanging down in front of me. Callie usually protests vociferously to this ridiculous shuffle when we walk through the heavily-populated park. My backpack never complains though.

When I have my backpack, I feel safe. I know that I can fit everything I could possibly need, want, or desire for the day (and mostly likely even a brief apocalypse stint) inside. On a good day, I will carry my wallet, laptop, laptop charger phone, daily ration of Diet Coke, some form of dessert, a jacket, various books or research material, painkiller, tissues, phone, a brollie, and a host of other items. If every bus in Leeds broke down simultaneously, my phone died, and I somehow found myself utterly alone and injured in the middle of St. George's Field in Uni, I know I would be ok if I have my backpack. Obviously, I wouldn't be happy, but I'd be ok. 

I guess, as a child, I never truly understood Dora's relationship with Backpack in Dora the Explorer. Her ballad to her Backpack's provision annoyed me and usually caused me to change the channel in disgust.  However, and usually to my extreme horror, Dora's anthem tended to stick around my head the rest of the day. But now, I understand--no, I applaud--Dora and her devotion to her purple friend.

In fact, I invite everyone to join along with me and Dora in singing a rousing chorus of the Backpack Song:

'Backpack, Backpack!

Backpack, Backpack!

I'm the Backpack loaded up with

Things and knickknack's too

Anything that you might need

I've got inside for you!

Backpack, Backpack!

Backpack, Backpack!

 YEAH!'