Sorting through the makeup, letters, pens, hair clips etc. on my dressing table, I manage to clear space. Until I happen upon a sparkling wristband from my cousin’s wedding.

Some backstory. My cousin, let’s call him Tom, got married about a month ago. Tom is a maximalist. Tom and his (now) lovely wife, hosted the event of the year, the event of the decade, the event of the century. There was an ice cream stand at the church, vintage cars transporting the wedding party, reception in an old castle, a helicopter transfer for the bride and groom, a wedding portrait painter, photobooths, a phone you can leave an answering machine message for the newly weds, a magician moving around the tables, goodie bags full of meaningful gifts, monogrammed trinkets scattered between the dinner plates and centerpieces, and to top off the evening, a 30 minute firework display with synchronised background music. Bruh. (The wealth of this couple does not extend to my corner of the family, unfortunately).

How does this relate to the bracelet, you ask. Well it came in the goodie bag. The LED light in the centre glowed and flashed all night, as they twinkled around the dancefloor on everyone’s wrists, the monogrammed name of the bride and groom marked in the centre with the date they were married below. And here is mine sitting in my messy room.

Should I keep it?

A question that has been playing on my mind every time I have my bi-monthly clear out. I find a ticket stub from a museum on a trip I went on two years ago. Or a card from a distant family member. And I understand the sentimentality. I do. I have kept lots of these items for years and years. There are certainly some items I would never part with.

What about the items that borderline make the cut? Things that are not definite keepsakes but are still tied to a nostalgic memory or a moment from my life. I have felt that fear of letting go of these sentimental items.

A large cotton grandfather shirt my father bought me sits on my shelf. The kind Charlie’s grandfather wore in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. To give my lovely father credit, I love old things. I love interesting things from years ago. I love things with a story, and things that mean something. So I do give him credit for knowing that about me, and this should be taken into consideration. However it is one of a multitude of these interesting things.

When he gave it to me I was certainly intrigued but I knew deep down that I wouldn’t want it long term. Why? Why would I need it? For sentimentality reasons. What purpose does it serve? Do I take it’s bulky folded form down off my shelf sometimes and feel that brief moment of nostalgia, and think about how my Dad got it for me and isn’t it a funny thing? Or do I give it to charity and let someone else have it? Someone who might have a use for it. I could never wear it, even as a sleep shirt. It’s thick cotton, the kind that was clearly necessary of its time, for cold draughty houses with damp beds. So why am I keeping it?

Isn’t that ungrateful? you might wonder. Until you see the multitude of other collected items gifted to me over the years, things I am hanging onto for ‘nostalgia’ reasons. Until you see my stepping over, and around, and through all the other items I am keeping for ‘the sake of it’.

It made me wonder: Why do we keep things that we have no use for?

Yes there is a happiness there, a pleasurable feeling of nostalgia, when I look at the grandfather shirt, I think fondly of my Dad who got it for me.

But when I think deeper, I find I am saddened by this fact. My lovely Dad, is clearly a hoarder. He collects items from charity shops, and finds somewhere in the house to put them and never looks at them again. And my mother who tries to spirit away the items when he is not looking, willing us to not make mention of the things she doesn’t want shoved into the house any longer, in case he discovers her in the act.

My siblings and I have discussed this before at length. We understand it to be a trauma response. Something that happens to a person when they grow up with nothing and have to fight for everything they have. You see, my father was the youngest child in a farming family, and they did have very little. Having to collect and gather prized possessions was important at the time, but it does not translate into this middle class existence.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my Dad and I would go to the ends of the earth for him. But clearly this is a much deeper issue, one that I am not going to unpack here.

However, it makes me wonder about the possessions that we keep and hold onto. Things surround us every day and the only importance bestowed upon them is the meaning we give them ourselves. I happen upon my nostalgic items and I sit there experiencing the brief moment of nostalgia that I feel holding the item in my hand, then I put it away. In that moment it’s lovely. Until I step back and see the 10 boxes full of nostalgic items, and I start to think of either buying more storage or disposing of the things I am not using on a regular basis.

Yes, I have a box of mementos and, yes, there are things in there I will not be parting with. But when does it get to a point where we start to let go of these things. Is it when we feel we will topple over from an avalanche of memorabilia, thousands of tiny bracelets, ticket stubs, and keyrings from Cheyenne, and cards from family members. Or can we release the things that do not and cannot serve us any more.

So when I find that bracelet, and I hold it in my hand, remembering the wonderful night my family had at my cousin’s wedding, I don’t want to let it go. But I look at the box of memorabilia and imagine tossing it in there along with everything else, a box that is already overflowing.

Instead I snap a picture of it, and toss it. The best memories are the ones that live in my head.

I hope you enjoyed my lovely little thoughts, until next time.

Lily x

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