Unpacking — What We Choose to Carry
“Behold! My stuff!” — Skurge, Thor: Ragnarok (2017)
In the past calendar year, most of my belongings have existed in boxes more than they have outside of them. Boxing up my things in June 2021, moving and trying to unpack in August, moving again as September started, settling only partially, before moving again in January, and then moving again in late February. Boxes. But through that, and all my other moves previously, I’ve found my rhythm: of my collection of Sterilite boxes, I know what of my belongings fit best in what container, where it can be stacked most reasonably on a U-Haul truck, what order things will need to be packed in to maximize space.
Logistically, I’m always getting better and better. Emotionally, though…it’s always an exciting time. The experience of moving somewhere new is always thrilling to me: deciding what comes with, what’s going where, what my space is going to look and feel like, for however long I’m there. It’s a time of new potential and new beginnings.
But enough about me. Unpacking by Witch Beam is the closest I’ve felt to that thrill of moving, somehow gamified, somehow just as limitless in its emotional potential. This is a story we live in our own day to day, but a story not our own that could only be told in an interactive format.
Put simply, players control a character as they move (literally) through her life: unpacking various items from unlabeled boxes to make her new space her own. Bedrooms, bathrooms, kitchens, all start to unfold and come alive with what our character brings along with her (and what she has to work around). That’s it, and it’s lovely.
Let’s get it out of the way: Unpacking looks adorable and sounds lovely. High-resolution pixel art makes every object pop and every room come more and more to life with each item placed. The soundtrack dips between acoustic lo-fi and 16-bit synth, sucking players into this little micro-world they’re responsible for, while the simple sound design makes every placement feel important and deliberate, but hardly permanent. Objects are meant to move and be moved, after all.
Unpacking tells a story in two ways: through people, and through objects. Further, it tells the story through people two ways: in the character, and in the player. As players move through the different boxes in the character’s life, they learn about this person, and the people around her, without a single word being spoken. We find out what they love, what they value, and who they value, simply by what we unpack and what we see in a space already. It’s seeing what they want on their shelves, what they prefer to make food with, their choice in aesthetic style, the space they make for others. It’s watching as our character lives with someone and takes a little bit of her old housemate into her future. Constantly changing, constantly evolving, but still herself. We are a communal species, constantly growing from and around each other, and Unpacking reminds us of that beautifully.
On the other end, it’s a story about the player. The character defines what is brought along, but players are the final call on where each belonging goes. What order to people sort their clothes in a closet? Is there an order? Dresser items? What gets top-billing on a bedside table? Which hand towel stays out, and which one gets stored? Are awards displayed proudly, or humbly tucked away? Is there comfort in being surrounded by the trappings of our childhood, or shame? A thousand little decisions define where our character lives, and have defined where we live.
Think about how you pack things. Does it all have a space? Do you keep like items together, or just start putting whatever will fit into whatever boxes have room? I’ve shared how I have my own system and structure, and the character’s system and structure is telling, as well. Pulling out a shoe from one box, and finding its match in a different box, or finding bathroom items in a box set in the kitchen was personally infuriating. But after a moment, I realized how hilarious it was that I was projecting so much onto this character. How often are we blinded from logic by excitement, or grief, or confusion? My circumstances have been different from hers. This is someone else’s journey, I’m just a guiding hand.
After all of that, Unpacking is a story about objects, and all the stories those objects tell. It’s a story told by the objects that are taken with, the objects left behind, the objects that return. It’s small, simple stories: how much our character loves cookies, that a jar or bag of cookies is always in the moving boxes. I can relate; I specifically loaded up on cans of Pibb Xtra before leaving Chicagoland, and always have snacks from Aldi ready to be eaten in my new space, no matter how close (or far) an Aldi is.
It’s more nebulous stories of where we’ve been, literally and figuratively. An Eiffel Tower sculpture, a toy double-decker bus, a tiny Leaning Tower of Pisa, we can infer only so much from those items, past “our character went there and enjoyed themselves.” I still have a box of small keepsakes from my childhood Walt Disney World trip, and a globe-in-a-cube paperweight from the U.S. Space & Rocket Center, even a dining room chair I stole from my last employer (don’t tell anyone).
It’s stories of progress and change, stories of passion giving way to function before allowing those things to coexist. It’s a bed full of stuffed animals, paring down to fewer and fewer as time goes on. It’s a kitchen becoming more and more functional and equipped for all sorts of tasks, while old standbys still make their way from place to place. It’s trying to make space for yourself, and making space for others…of things existing in opposition, and then finding ways for other things to coexist.
It’s stories told by the mere possession of certain things. Tabletop role-playing game books, dice, and miniatures tell us a person is invested in the game. A small collection of movies or video games tells us that they enjoy these things, and are very intentional about what they have. Are the clothes they have branded, stylistic, or functional? A bit of all? A first aid kit travels everywhere, seemingly never used, but always on-hand; speaks to preparedness. Why did she get an instrument? Was there another influence that led her that way? I have my theories. The comfort of consistency (a memory album, a cup for toothbrushing supplies, old posters) living alongside the joy of the new (books, décor items, new art). Tape decks and cassettes replaced by CD players and CDs. Art supplies growing more and more advanced. Board games being left behind before making a comeback. Passion finding passion, and living in a place where it can all be celebrated. That’s the story of Unpacking, and it tells its story perfectly.
At the end of the day, packing, moving, and unpacking is a lot. It can be draining, no matter how much help you enlist. But just as frustrating as the whole process can be, there’s nothing like having all your boxes inside and ready to be placed in their new spot. It’s the start of something new, a chance to set the stage for your life’s next big production. Unpacking revels in that potential, and reminds us, in the kindest way, how we are defined by our possessions. What we have at a certain time. What we choose to let go of. What we happily return to. What we bring together, and what we keep separate. What we seek out and what our tools are for getting there.
I love to look around people’s homes when they give me a chance to visit. What they choose to display, what they have out, everything they do tells me a story of priority, circumstance, and potential. What we have, and how we have it, all tells a story without words. Unpacking is a beautiful story, told without a single word, and it mirrors our own stories in countless ways.
“Behold! My stuff!” has a nicer connotation now, doesn’t it?
