Call me an emotional fool, but I have a personal hoard of memories that I go through every time I am home. These are in the form of birthday cards, appreciation notes, letters, scrapbooks, boarding passes, concert tickets, School/Uni IDs and other silly stuff that for me, form my most valuable earnings till date.
Increasingly, I have noticed that I bring home fewer and fewer things to add to my pile of treasure. As technology has taken over our lives, we hardly think of writing someone a letter. At the most, an e-card is sent if we tend to remind someone of our existence in their busy lives. Some people opt for the traditional methods, so they go to the extent of choosing a greeting card from the impersonal stack of mass produced commercialised cards available at the local stores. I am not against any of these methods of expressing emotions, I just prefer the hand drawn, handwritten ones above all.
As I go through the silly drawings on the tiny cards we made for each other in school, I am reminded of our innocence. The colourful, sticker studded ones are a reminiscence of our gullible teenage years when expression had to be visual to the best. The more subtle, classy ones (may I add, mostly store-bought ones) are to be chalked up as the prideful reminders of our adolescence when the scented cards were in high demand. But the handwritten messages in these cards are what separate them from being cast away as impersonal stacks of paper I have to keep. Even a tiny little line written in a hurry has an impact on my memories of that person. The letters are the most cherished ones because they take me back in time at length and it’s hard to avoid the moisture welling up in my eyes as memories cloud my vision.
Emotions change with time, relations tend to evolve as we progress in our lives. The once inseparable crime partners now rarely get the chance to catch up. The friends you thought would never grow up, have such time consuming professional lives that you tend to fade away from their priority list. Friends switch jobs, marry and move on, they shift to other cities, other countries and what you are left with are the memories you created with them. No one is to blame in this since its the cycle of life. But what we can do, is accept it and move on ourselves.
It is at this juncture that this silly fixation of mine towards what others might call, the stack of old stuff, comes in handy. I relive those memories while going through each and everything that mattered to me once upon a time. There was a reason why those book-pressed dry roses found a place in my scrapbook. The apology letter, the appreciation note, the funny roommate reminders, the lengthy emotional letters, all have a reason to be there in my treasure pile. And I want to keep that reason alive in my heart always. Always and forever.
Image Copyright with the artist- © Liligraphie