Hundreds and hundreds of movie posters - possibly thousands because I lost count after I acquired Russell Crowe's 'Unleash Hell' Gladiator poster in 2000 - occupy my home.
Hell unleashed - that's an apt term for my situation. I live in a five-room HDB flat that's nowhere near big enough; I really need something that would give me the roominess of, say, the Supreme Court.
Thanks to my stuff, there's no space for me and only about 2 sq m left in my home for my mum. Soon, I'll have to move her to the corridor to make way for Rambo 5 memorabilia.
My posters, all original, all pristine and all worth a lot of money, linger in tubes, boxes and cardboard holders in every conceivable corner of every room - against the walls, on the floor and, since 1998, on my bed.
I know because I haven't stretched out for a good night's sleep in 10 years. In the war zone that's my flat, I sleep on the couch, with my video tapes.
Now, you must think I'm nuts to live like this. You're right. I'm an incorrigible hoarder.
So incorrigible that, in addition to posters, I add more congestion by collecting movie giveaways, standees, magazines, stuff big and small, but all giving very tangible meaning to the term 'potential fire hazard'.
All that in addition to stacks and stacks of newspapers halfway up to the ceiling, lots and lots of DVD box sets, and piles and piles of books I'll never read. Oh, and I've never missed an issue of Time magazine since Jimmy Carter was president.
Now the rational man confirms that I'm insane. But he's also thankful that at least I don't collect underwear. (Here, I quickly stuff the Miss Singapore freebie bikinis into The Devil Wears Prada make-up box.)
And perhaps it would be nice to hear that unlike some far crazier people, a full-sized Angelina Jolie inflatable doll doesn't sit at my dining table. So the irrational man submits to a certain sense of order and collective calm in my disorder.
There's a certain method to my madness. For, just like a librarian, I am a keeper of the gate. I know and remember everything that has passed through my door even though that door needs an ERP gantry to stop more things from coming in.
I collect stuff, junk to other people, treasure to me because they give so much pleasure and so much meaning to my life.
When all you have is an empty room, you're sharing it with the dust of time. Me, I have all the possessions I like with me, each item harbouring a moment when I first set eyes on them and went 'I'm so happy to have you'.
I'm the karung guni man of cluttered memories. I hold on to everything. You can fall in love with your first love only once.
But with a brand-new movie poster of, say, King Kong vs Godzilla? You can cherish the space-filling giant monkey of your dreams again and again.
