I was rooting through a lot of my old stuff the other day – the various articles of my childhood that inhabit the attic space attached to my room. My mom has perpetually made fun of me because of my squirrel-like habit of tunneling little tid bits away like that. for some reason I have never been quite as skilled as she is at grasping the concept of “spring cleaning.”She considers all these items that I end to hold onto as “trash” and “a waste of space.” And, in all honesty, to the naked eye, that is precisely what this Hodge-podge collection of miscellaneous items is.
But to me, each old trinket, photo, magazine and bookmark is a memory trigger. My quandary with the whole thing is that I fear that transience of memory. I know that it tends to be only a fleeting and volatile thing. We like to assume that our memories are accurate and that they will last as we do, but in reality they fade and are warped by our perceptions. Regardless, I treasure them. I keep all of these items for fear that I will lose the memories attached to them. And it is true, without these triggers, some of my fondest childhood memories may very well slip into oblivion. Maybe not everyone finds this as tragic as me, maybe I’m too nostalgic, maybe it’s because I sometimes fear the future, maybe it’s because I’m struggling to figure “me” out, that has yet to be decided.