Corporate-Materialistic-Whore versus A-Box-Of-Memories …
My digital camera takes the selective pictures that chronicle the people and activities that are part of my life. Eric The Computer sits happily on my desk, buzzing into life when he’s required and sleeping soundly when he’s not – he plays my music, informs me of news events, keeps me in touch with family and friends, suffers appallingly when I jab his little keys with my fingers, enjoys a sporadic update and plays with Red Bear when nobody’s looking. My iPod keeps me company on long bus journeys playing the likes of The Goo Goo Dolls, Rick Astley [how’s that for cheesy?] and The Primitives. And sometimes it simply pretends and just lets me eavesdrop on unsuspecting fellow passengers [being the curious soul that I am]. My mobile is my lifeline and offers me security and text messages.
My life would be thrown into chaos if these were lost. But it wouldn’t be the end of the world.
My books line the shelves invitingly, waiting for me to dip in and be consumed by imagination. The DVDs entice me with flamboyant covers. Kinky Bear sometimes gets tired of being kept in bondage. Ernest the Red Cat is used to being hugged fiercely and then thrown on the floor.
My life would be plunged into turmoil if these were lost. But it wouldn’t be the end of the world.
Raggedy Andy has been my friend since I was two. My big solid silver cross laughs delightedly whenever I put it on. My diamond solitaire twinkles endearingly and I marvel at it’s prettiness.
I would be absolutely freakin’ devastated if I lost any of these. The world as I know it would almost be over.
I have carrier bags and boxes full of little things. Scraps of envelopes on which ex-boyfriends have written me silly poems that make me cry, unsticky post-it notes containing messages of love and luck from friends that are no longer a part of my life. Tickets [many signed] from gigs, comedy acts, snooker tournaments, theatre and cinema trips, festivals, holidays. Photographs of friends, family and famous folk. Diaries from my teenage years. Brochures, leaflets, sweet wrappers and postcards from foreign trips such as the French Exchange [when I had my first real French kiss at the age of thirteen – *grin*]. Valentine cards from lost loves and loves that never were. Letters from everybody. E-mails that were so lovely hard-copies were required. A plane from a former student. Pebbles from beaches. Letters asking, and then organising, an eight year old, and then a fourteen year old, me to be bridesmaid. Foreign sanitary hygiene bags [*shrug*]. Pressed flowers from special occasions. A ribbon from a time long ago. Pictures drawn for me when I worked with primary age children and funny notes from teenagers requesting forgiveness for not doing homework at secondary level. A book with messages of luck and tear splodges from the Year 9 tutor group I left behind in Essex so many moons ago.
If I were to lose these it really would break my heart and I would grieve for what is lost. A lot of my life is wrapped tidily up in the clutter of these bags and boxes. They are added to constantly. Memories and laughter and tears and drunkeness and love and hope.
I learnt a long time ago that I can’t live in the past. But I can enjoy my past and my present through the objects I keep that have significance, that helped [and still help] me become who I am.
Those carrier bags and boxes contain treasures. They contain my favourite possessions. Possessions that will never be replaced if lost …