Tucked into the bottom left corner of my cubby organizer is a stylish 8x11-inch photo box I’ve had since middle school. Inside lies a thick pile of cards, hand-written notes, photos, and tiny souvenirs—all tangible reminders of the people and moments that have shaped me.
This past weekend, I felt myself drawn to open it. Maybe it was the pull of nostalgia that winter always brings, or perhaps a quiet nudge urging me to look back before moving forward into the new year. Whatever the reason, I dusted off the lid and opened it.
Buried in between layers of folded letters and random tickets was a note scribbled on a piece of wide-ruled notebook paper from an eighth grade friend. The second I unfolded it, I was transported back to my school days. The thrill of passing notes in class, the careful folds, the way we’d tuck them into each other’s palms as we walked by, like some sacred exchange. A small moment, sure, but whatever it was, it was real. An attempt at putting feelings into words and something tangible to hold on to.
I’ve always been the friend who wants to document everything. The one who takes too many photos at gatherings, who pockets receipts from nights out, who keeps letters and notes long after others might have tossed them. For me, these collections are not for show necessarily, but serve as little reminders for where I’ve been, what I learned, who I’ve loved, and what matters to me.
Photos, in particular, have always been my way of holding onto time, or pausing time. I am not a professional photographer by any means, but I am an obsessive observer. I’ve spent years documenting the small, ordinary things—the way the sunlight filters through my window at 3:30 pm, a plate of fruit my dad prepared for me, a random corner of my house, my friend’s laughter when she’s around her boyfriend.
I know a photo can never truly capture the fullness of a moment, but it comes close enough to make me feel like I’m stepping back in time. And sometimes, one glance at an image is all it takes to unlock a flood of memories. I also love how
frames preserving memories in The things we do to distract ourselves:“what a gift it is to be able to capture a moment in time. To look back and remember. To feel what can sometimes be fleeting. To hold onto something that takes up no physical space.
I think about this often—how the things we hold onto are not just objects, but echoes of people, of places, of selves we’ve been. Last year, I made a magazine for my best friend’s birthday. Conversations with loved ones and photos over the years covered the glossy pages. She later told me she cried, laughed, and cried again flipping through it. That moment reaffirmed what I’ve always believed: the things we create with care and intention, the things we can hold in our hands, hold a weight that no digital exchange ever could.
Maybe that’s why I cling so tightly to my memory box. It’s for proof. Proof that these moments happened, that they mattered, that they still exist in some way. Every card, photo, note in that box is a quiet rebellion against the erasure of time. And in a world that moves so quickly, that feels like something worth holding onto.
Media consumed recently that I felt moved to share.
You should keep a scrapbook in 2025 and start documenting your life (YouTube)
How to embrace mistakes without romanticizing failure (The Creative Independent)
It is seldom wise to tell all ( substack)
On memifying politics (TikTok)
I keep little things like this too!!! Memories may fade but keepsakes are forever. Thank you for sharing.
I adore you and your mind! My lil memory collector!