Member-only story
Discarding Memories
Things. It is our nature to collect them.
I did a little bit of post-festive cleaning, right after Eid al-Fitri. I should have cleared up most of my items before the celebration, yet I can’t get around to doing it because I simply have no time.
I hesitate, taking a last look at all my physical collections before I zip up the trash bag.
Some of them bear personal attachments, like conduits to the yesteryear. These tokens I gingerly touch, trigger flashbacks to a distant memory.
Good thing that the bag wasn’t transparent.
Memories don’t define us
Funny how some of the items we own seemed wildly important at a period of time but didn’t really mean much anymore. The peeling punk jacket, a dusty left-handed guitar, crumpled teenage love letters; a decaying reminder of a glorious past.
Mementos. A noun I hardly use, which I always associate with the feel-good spearmint hard candy. Mementos are prized in our eyes, yet worthless to others.
We tend to believe that our past memories culminate to a point which makes up our present being.
Perhaps, it is our greatest fear of not being able to recall our stories, thus unable to leave a legacy.
