Old stuff old me

I have recently been sifting through a lot of old stuff. My mum is moving house and by way of being her daughter, a lot of my old things I don’t use or think about anymore have ended up there. I emptied a cardboard box with frayed edges, scraps of old tape hanging off its corners. Squished in there amidst crumpled uniforms and a Brownies sash, was a small pencil case that had been zipped up to bursting, stuffed with what I objectively define as “bits and bobs”. A badge pin, small bit of broken wood scribbled with pencil marks, dead yellow feather, lifeless endearing lizard charms made up of microscopic beads, smelly gel pens, a ladybird pendant that doubles up as a watch. Trinkets and Talisman. 

I am supposed to be lessening the load. Of things that my mum will have to take with her to the new place, so I have to make sacrifices, I realise, but I look at these little pieces of me from when I was eleven and I can’t. I remember the feather and that bit of wood. I couldn't explain to you why they mattered or what I remember about them. But I do know them. A certain recognition you feel as with the sensation of seasons. So I keep the pencil case in tact and leave it to the side.

Then there are these textbooks. My school workbooks from Year 3 until Year 8. What am I going to do with these? Will I ever read them - no. Will anyone else ever want to read them - no. But I can’t lightly put them in the bin bag with the the old envelopes and school year planner. I am stuck. I want to get rid of things but they won’t let me! Instead, they draw me closer until I am sat in a pool of light from a cheap lamp staring down at my old work. 

MOVIES (written twice in bubble writing, twice in normal writing)

1. Space Jam

2. BFG

3. Jurassic Park

...

I list ten “movies” in total but I get the gist. My past self is listing my favourite films in order. And let me tell you, my description of Jurassic Park is nothing like Jurassic Park. I manage to list all the main characters and I am glad to say that Jeff Goldblum then, made as much of an impression on me, as he still does today. And Space Jam? That was a pretty good movie. I can still remember all the words to I Believe I Can Fly. I believe I could touch the sky. I think about it every night and day. Spread my wings and fly away. I believe I can SSSSSOAR

So. What makes me me now and me then? Am I really the same person when I have no recollection of watching the BFG, yet I still love Jurassic Park and remember Michael Jordan playing basketball against aliens? If I throw this stuff away and I forget it all, do I stop being the old me because nothing reminds me of her?

I have a job now. And in that job I get given a quarterly review, which is an assessment of your character in a professional light. I guess that’s a little bit like a school report. I have a school report open in front of me from when I was eight and it says under Listening Skills that ‘Rimika is a good pupil at listening. She always asks questions in class but in some cases, she asks too many questions about things she already knows the answers to...’ The teacher continues. And it strikes me that my line manager gave me exactly the same criticism last week; I ask too many questions to things I already know the answers to. I’m twenty-nine! How have I never taken this criticism on board?

I imagined an eight year old would be different to their thirty year old self, and seventy year old self. For one: different priorities. I am eight and I worry that my tamagotchi is dying and Olivia doesn't like me. I am twenty-nine and I worry about a flat leak and the cost of commuting. But I guess immediate thoughts play no outcome in the way you are. Because clearly I still am - very much like I was - when I was at eight. Just bigger with more money. I don’t know if this is worrying or the facts of life.

So I gather my things and place them in to piles, I throw some away and leave others to ponder over. I have a week left before they all get judged. To keep or not to keep. What about all those kids who's parents never kept anything, maybe they couldn’t, simply lack of space and time. I’m sort of lucky to have these things that remind me of a person I don’t know anymore because they morphed in to me. I’m pretty happy with things as they are so I don’t feel too bad about it. Thankfully. And that pencil case. When did I make the decision to put all my worldly treasures in to that khaki zipped sack, like Noah’s Ark adrift on a voyage until the time was right.

I remember something from my archaeology degree.

Burials and shipwrecks are what we call “closed contexts”. They remain untouched for years and years until their own civilisation forgets, and when we find them, they give us precious insight. A snapshot in time otherwise lost forever to the noise of history.