Every time I go out with loved ones, I find myself holding on to items that would normally be left behind or thrown away. From receipts to toys, it's always the smallest objects that seem to matter most to me. There’s a brown box under my bed that holds these items and each one has its own story.
In the middle of autumn, my friend and I went to the Fenway dining hall for lunch. To our surprise, mini pumpkins and markers were scattered across a table, free for students to create their own personalized pumpkins. We began decorating, keeping our masterpieces hidden from one another until a grand reveal. I attempted to draw the Lorax, recreating his bushy eyebrows and golden mustache, while my friend drew Charlie Brown and Snoopy holding on to each other. It’s safe to say that my friend’s drawing was far better than mine. We finished by placing little wizard hats on the stems of our pumpkins. Ever since then, one of those tiny hats has remained in the brown box under my bed.
During the winter snowstorm, it wasn’t easy to find food once the dining hall closed for the night. Since it was hard to get around, my friends and I ended up trudging through the snow to a small restaurant nearby. The lights inside acted like a lighthouse amid crashing waves on a foggy night. As we entered, the warmth rushed over us, while the steaming miso soup warmed us from within. From the journey to the late-night food, it was a night full of laughter, glee, and a hint of suffering. As I signed the check, marking the end of the moment, I slid a copy of the receipt into my pocket, soon to find a home in the brown box under my bed.
How can a piece of paper hold so much meaning to me? And why does a little wizard hat bring a smile to my face like nothing else?
I’ve received mixed reactions from people I’ve told about my habit of holding on to small items. Some find it weird, seeing it as unusual to keep random objects. This has led me to question myself at times, wondering if these keepsakes are just signs of odd attachment to moments that have already passed.
But, where others see fabric, I see joy. Where they see paper, I see family. These mementos mean the world to me, reminding me of different moments in my life. The brown box doesn’t just hold physical objects, but feelings I never want to forget. So where others see trash, I see beauty. My keepsakes mean everything to me. They’re memories that I cherish with my heart and never want to lose.