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I am a Serial Collector of Memories

     I am a serial collector of memories. For years, I have kept a “Happy Box.” It has an assortment of items that meant so much to me in a moment in time. They were moments that I wanted to freeze forever, hoping to freeze with it the feeling of bliss.

The ribbon that was on a birthday gift from my best friend that we couldn’t get off and we laughed and laughed at the restaurant table. The hockey tickets from the first official date with my boyfriend. The shorts I crafted and got people to sign on a band trip. Play bills from every play I’ve been to in the past ten years. Confetti from Walk Off the Earth concerts. Bracelets, trinkets, letters.

Every now and then, I feel nostalgic and go through my Happy Box. Sometimes, it lifts my spirits and reminds me of a time when I was so happy, I didn’t think life could get any better. Other times, it is a hurtful reminder of things that have come and gone.

The once fulfilling letter from the friend that stopped talking to me. The pictures of the people that utterly betrayed me and made me stop trusting friends. The thoughtful gifts that turned out to be from someone pretending to be close to me because they wanted to use me.

I throw a lot of things out over the years. You forget why something meant something to you. People move on. Life moves forward. Friends change. You change.

I won’t stop collecting memories. I want to be able to tell my future children about the time I took my English friends to a winery and saw someone use a knife to cut the top off of a bottle of champagne. I want to tell them about the backyard parties I threw for my lifeguard friends that were both epic and messy. I want to tell them about the time my friend and I switched our subject’s exam grades, and I impressed the whole Math department with my mark.

Memories are important and painful and wonderful and hard to deal with sometimes. I’m a nostalgic person. I struggle to let go of things that were once important to me. In Lana Del Rey’s song Dark Memory, she says “there’s no remedy for memory.” I think about that a lot. Memories can be simultaneously heart-wrenching and hopeful


I’m a serial collector of memories. I know that. It's something I'm proud of. I want to live in a world where I get to keep the best moments of my life carefully tucked away in a decorative box in the corner of my room. Maybe one day I’ll be able to look back on everything in my Happy Boxes and flip fondly through the items, remembering when I was younger and more naïve. Maybe I’ll be able to attach lessons to the stories that unravel the deeper I dig. For now, I’ll keep trying to get rid of the things that bring a tear to my eye.

- Daniella

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