Scattered around her gray empty room, souvenirs sat patiently yearning to be remembered. Each little trinket held onto its own secret whisper, a story– some even decades old– with such fervor you’d forget that they weren’t human. Though surely alive, they could seldom find anyone to tell their story to. Lucky for them, you’ve walked into the room this time.
“Have you never found it scary,” started one of them in a didactic tone, “that you might forget?” All of them brushed off that thought– perhaps it was too scary to think of– but all of them knew it was true. We forget one-fourth of all the new information we get to know within a day or two. These are memories that are lost forever to the fabric of our existence, never to come back again. What was it that you forgot? What is left of the life you once lived if you do not remember?
The birthday card that your best friend from third grade gave sits comfortably on the bottom shelf. It is old and creased– the once bright colors now fading into soft pastels. It has a Winnie the Pooh character on it. You were never a fan of Winnie the Pooh but every time your best friend brought it up, you were always listening. It reminds you of all the times you listened and watched the glimmer in their eyes grow brighter. It reminds you that you care for the things that the people you love, truly love.
The little matching beaded jewelry you made for your boyfriend hangs from a dusty shelf. It’s made from the same beads you bought when you were in second grade. You cried and whined to your mother to buy that bead set only to make a ring for the person you love, 10 years later. Isn’t it beautiful to see where things end up?
But that was not the only thing you made with that set. You made necklaces for your grandmother who kept them away in her own box of souvenirs. You made jewelry for yourself when there was no one to give your love to. But this tells you that you always have had someone to love– whether it be someone else or yourself. You have always been free to love. And this is the power you will always hold.
The Barbies you had when you were 6 are stuffed in the most inaccessible drawer of the room. Perhaps you’re still ashamed of how much you loved them. You wanted to be different so bad that you ripped the limbs of every Barbie you ever owned. Your idea of femininity and your struggle with it is so utterly skewed that you cover it up with shame and guilt. Memories are not always forgotten– sometimes they’re repressed. You gulp them down so you don’t have to think and force them out of your gut. But everytime someone brings up their dollhouses and tells you how much they loved theirs, you feel a pang of regret. If only you allowed myself to have the luxury of validating your own choices, how different would life be? This reminds you to treat yourself more gently– to respect the choices you make yourself; and to allow enough room to yourself and less to what others think of you.
Forgetfulness is frightening. No one knows how to deal with the burden of knowing that everything that once happened is so fleeting that only the weight of an ever-vigilant conscience can stop it from escaping. The world moves faster than what you can ever catch up with and leaves you behind if you slow down. Minimalism tells you to throw away these charms– which one of them do you even listen to? The sentimentalist in you might weep at the thought of loss but the only solace you can give to yourself is that the moments may have passed but the memories live on with you. The Pooh might be blurry, but what you felt still seems surreal. The physicality of souvenirs matters little when you hold onto experiences for longer. The souvenirs themselves matter little if you sit with the feeling for longer.
Edited by: Devanganna Jain