lesson learned

The jewelry was in my electronic/media box. Go figure.

It's amazing how much more cherished and valuable these things are to me now. It's amazing many more memories resurfaced when I thought I had lost them forever.

to lose a memory

I think I've lost my jewelry. I think it happened in the move back to campus. All the stuff I wear on a regular basis, all my stuff from England, all my silver necklaces and half of my beaded ones-- they were all in this little oriental purse thing-- and now they are nowhere to be found. I got really upset-- and then I got upset with myself for being upset. I mean-- think about it. It's just stuff, things, material goods. My health is not affected, my friends and family are fine, and my life will go on. They are just things, I thought-- so why does it hurt so much to think I'll never see them again?

I was at work this morning at the UTLC when it hit me-- I was putting out handouts for the upcoming start of school, fastening a bright red label, when I realized something. The label read "Memory." My jewelry was full of memories.

There was the ring Isa bought me last year for Christmas. She knew how much I wanted it, and I was ready to buy it myself, but she insisted. It was the one from James Avery with the Hebrew writing on it, which read "I am my beloved's and He is mine." I remember sitting with her in my car, talking about relationships. I was having a hard time dealing with my break-up and issues with Bart, and she was the only one who wanted to listen-- who didn't just want to bash him-- but wanted to talk through it and offer her love and advice. Isa helped me to see that I gave my heart to a man, when it can belong to no man. That ring was Isa helping me to remember that God alone will have my heart, now and forever.

There was my jewelry from England. I loved that wood bead bracelet I bought from the hippie vendor in Oxford. People would stop me on the street and in stores all the time to ask me where I bought it. I loved a chance to talk about Oxford-- the first place that I ever really went by myself. It was the first time I was out on my own. There was the silver and hematite ring-- the one with the intricate designs that I wore everyday. I bought it in the same shop I bought the elfish looking earrings-- the most beautiful earrings I'd ever seen. The shop was outside of Stonehenge, and the owner smelled so strongly of incense that I thought she herself must be burning. The girls I was with couldn't believe I bought either of them, as they were really quite strange-- but to me, they were exotic. Then there was that small ring I got in Haworth for 1 pound. All four of us bought them-- me, Kristen, Joanna, and Jenn. There were four silver loops. There were four of us. And they were cheap. It couldn't be more perfect. I wore my England jewelry all the time-- I loved telling people about the pieces when they would ask. That jewelry reminded me of the trip that changed my life, igniting a love for travel, a passion for writing, and a new interest in foreign peoples and cultures.

There was the necklace and earring set from Ryan—the one he bought for me the day I broke up with him. He still gave it to me—for Christmas. He couldn’t afford it. I think he opened a credit account with the jewelers to buy it. They were small sapphires with diamond chips above them—very delicate and very beautiful. They were so simple, but so precious to me. There was a period of time where I had to put them away—I couldn’t look at them without thinking of Ryan and breaking into tears. I almost can’t believe that we made it through the intense pain of that breakup and have become friends again. I didn’t know if it would ever be possible. Ryan is just so very dear to me and those simple, yet beautiful sapphires reminded me of him.

The vintage-esque earrings that I bought cheap at the mall—they remind me of Bart. He loved those earrings. He loved it most when I would where them with a simple dark top or dress. The small fake diamonds would sparkle on the “antiqued” silver, and no one could tell that I got them discounted on a clearance rack. I wore them with everything from jeans to dresses, from school to weddings. I wore them around him because I knew that it would bring his hand to my hair as he would push it back behind my ear to see them better, and then look into my face and smile. Though my feelings for Bart are very different now (and he would say the same about me), I cherish my memories of him and the amazing times that we spent together.

There were so many other things in there that I will miss. The necklaces have been gathered over time at countless markets and street vendors—I love hand-made pieces, things that are one of a kind. The silver necklaces were acquired through my teenage years—and though I don’t buy things like that anymore—I wore them on a pretty regular basis. The ONE Campaign bracelet—an outward symbol of my heart for the people of Africa and the poverty and suffering that they endure—a reminder that action is required and that I have so much when others don’t even have food to eat. There were small rose earrings and turquoise studs from Vail—my trip with Katy our freshman year. I’m sure as time goes on, I will remember more and more things I stuffed into that small pouch.

Julie had dinner with my family on Saturday night, and we were discussing memory. She wondered aloud how many things she had done that she doesn’t even remember she had done. I then said that I love it when something small and seemingly insignificant will bring a memory back into the forefront of your mind—out of the depths. I think that’s what I’m mourning. That jewelry—those pieces were the small and insignificant trinkets that kept those memories alive. I won’t forget Bart or Ryan or Isa or England, or any of the other people or things linked to those small charms or gems, but I do want to hold onto them and who and what they are to me and my life.

I don’t think you can lose a memory, but I fear them being tucked away for safe-keeping, and then never resurfacing. Who knows—maybe the pouch will turn up. Maybe it won’t—just as long as my memories don’t disappear with it.

“Memory is a way of holding onto the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose.”
~ The Wonder Years

the embrace

The embrace of the one from whom embraces used to come...

Curiously comfortable
And altogether grand
The feeling of your warm embrace
Like when you hold my hand
But instead of fingers intertwined
I can feel your heart in mine