It’s weird how as our life goes by we keep hanging on to all this stuff from the past, these bits and pieces that belong to different eras of our life.
Most of the time, it’s a bunch of useless crap that we no longer have any use for whatsoever, but still, for some reason, it’s crap that is very dear to us.
The other day I had one of those moments when something dawns upon you, and you suddenly understand a certain thing about your nature, and about human nature in general.
I think that in our present, we feel somehow disconnected from our past, as if it’s all part of a past life, a distant memory, that we’re not sure is true or not, not sure we really lived.
These small useless material things are more or less the only proof we have that we were there and we lived all that. Without them, our past doesn’t exist. They’re the only way to reassure us and keep our past alive in our present.
No wonder how dear they are to us.
I still have a bunch of stuff spanning my different ages stored here and there as some sort of anchor, a living memory of that age, a proof of existence. A teddy bear, a notebook, an old computer, a skateboard, legos, …etc.
A pile of items that hold so much more value than any possible estimation.