Now that the year is coming to an end, I’ve noticed my tendency to collect many things. Some are physical, like the painted stones I find hidden in the grass and the stickers that I love to place everywhere. Others are intangible, like the lingering taste of summer peaches and the not too distant feeling of leaves crunching beneath my shoes.
I have many memories — but I find them bittersweet. The next wish on my list, and the last one before my 18th birthday: I want to keep my bittersweet memories instead of trying to forget them.
I often feel the urge to declutter my life, especially when I’m stressed. I’ll clean my room extensively, organizing everything in sight until I feel a weight being lifted off my chest. When I’m done, my room is spotless except for the “trash pile” I’m left with. I’ll slowly sort through this pile of broken bracelets, old receipts, and lonely trinkets, and suddenly have a change of heart.
These things won’t go in the trash, but they also won’t be in my sight. I struggle to open my jammed closet door and shove everything that bothers me inside. Then I close the door and walk away as the chaos silently collects dust in the darkness.
Most of the items in my closet are definitely trash, but the memories attached to them aren’t. Like a crystal bracelet my grandma gifted me that I wore until it snapped, the beads laying useless in a jar on the floor.
I shove away the bittersweet memories and lose them underneath heaps of abandoned clothes, projects, pictures, and books. My closet is a memory box that I’m afraid to sort through.
My camera roll wasn’t safe from my cleaning either. I have deleted hundreds of pictures. The photo album I have doesn’t do justice to the 17 years I’ve lived, but I can’t stand having old photos sitting around. None of them made me feel happy or nostalgic; they were all too awkward or too blurry or too bittersweet.
Recently I stopped myself from deleting my pictures, realizing that in the future I won’t care about the quality of the photo or how awkwardly I’m smiling in the moment — I’ll just want to have something to help me remember special moments. I also stopped feeling so guilty about my collecting habits.
I still collect and keep useless items because it’s beautiful to see all the people I love in everything around me.
My efforts to rid myself of important memories are fruitless. I thought that I’d be happier if I didn’t constantly think about the past or everything that’s changing, but my memories are what make me, me. It’s difficult, but I’m learning to be grateful for every person I used to be and all the phases of my life. I’m no longer disheartened when a memory catches me by surprise in an everyday object because I promised myself that when I’m 18, I’ll keep my bittersweet memories close to my heart. I might even find the courage to clean my closet and hang up the pictures that deserve to be seen.
