Ever since I can remember, I've been saving mementos that remind me a million experiences I've lived through in the past three decades. Photos, unused stickers, small notes, article clippings, accessories, stuffed toys, and even old IDs, bank cards, and credit cards. I've keep journals, old birthday cards, and letters from friends I've cherished from my school days. Most of them are stashed in boxes, taking up a fair amount of storage space in an already cluttered utility room/playroom/maid's room. Thank goodness for the genius of digital photos and scrapbooks; otherwise, I 'd have a problem figuring out what to do with a mountain of aging, mildew- and mold-stained objects.
Of course it was so much different when I was younger when I'd have a whole room to myself and I have control over my personal space. But now, as a wife, mother, and a household help's boss, I have to consider that the space I live end up being shared by others . "Why don't you dispose of the things you do not use or need?" my husband would say each time I spend weekends in that spare room (This used to be my mother's line). I tell him that I'd take care of it and secretly wish he'd leave me alone with my rummaging.
I honestly do not know why I hold on to these things. It's as if I am not content with keeping just a mental file, and that I'd have to touch an object connected with that experience to keep that memory alive. Deep down, I know that someday, the time will come and I would be ready to let these things go. I doubt very much that it would be through an estate auction.
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