As you all know, I am currently completing the mammoth task of cleaning out my room. While I am very good and put a stop to my hoader ways by throwing or giving away things that I’ve always kept but forgotten their existence until a big clean out, I kept almost everything in my memory box. TIP: If you’re doing a clean out, be sure to leave the memory stuff until last. It’ll only side track you, you could lose things in the rubble that surrounds you and also, it makes a nice treat to go through at the end of the clean out. I didn’t quite manage this but still.
This isn’t my first trip down memory lane, and if you want you can look at my first installment of childhood nostalgia here.
But this one is a bit more personal. My memory box dates back as far as first year in terms of me keeping stuff and technically, since I found my montasorri certificate, the content goes back to when I was four years old. As I went through it, I probably went through some of the cringiest hours of my life (privately, thankfully).
Secondary school journals from when I was 12-15 years old were the hardest to swallow.
“JD loves SVS”
“Buffy Buddies 4 Lyf”
“The OC Rox”
I mean I could go on but I think it best not to allow you to lose any more respect for me. (Glossary: SVS= Someone Very Special/Sexy. BOM= Best of Mates.)
Next came the t-shirts. I counted seven t-shirts in my box, two were my school uniform t-shirts, signed, one plain top from transition year, signed, the one I wore in our transition year dance, a Budget Travel Kids’ Club t-shirt, a Pueblo Ingles camp t-shirt, signed by my team (we won – can’t resist throwing that out there), and one from a pub crawl in Benidorm; the less said about that one the better. But it was fun to read all the signatures, and in-jokes and drawings, most of which I can still remember the meaning of.
Then there were the certificates.
Three from my stellar performances in the Budget Travel Kids’ Club rendition of Grease and The Blues Brothers, a Leaving Cert and Junior Cert…well, cert. Two transition year ones, one for participation and one for getting a distinction. One for Reiki level 1, one for bag packing, one for completing peer education training (most of these were from TY). Then there were several merit awards for attendance, first aid certificates and even one for graduating from Montessori school.
Among the 3D objects in the box, corsages from both debs, minus the flowers obviously. A mobile phone holder I made in engineering, a snow globe I made in primary school, a coin from Sweden, several wrist bands from various clubs, events and festivals, and a Hawaiian flower necklace from my sister-in-law’s hen party.
There were notes from my friends who used to pass them to me in corridors or shove them in my lockers. These were equally as cringy as the journal graffiti.
There were some random personal notes/letters I wrote (either to future self or to other people) that gave me an insight into how I felt during certain points in my life; how I felt towards certain people. I write to vent, I need to write letters to people I’m upset with to get it out of my system, even if I never send them. There were letters to friends and exs in there and then a good few to myself to remind me what was important to me at the time, or what I thought should be important in the future. It’s a very cathartic thing, writing those letters. It’s even more cathartic reading back over them having been able to move on.
And so the memory box is tidied up and put away…