memories

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A while ago some boxes came down from the loft and they've been loitering in the corner of the bedroom ever since. So today I took the plunge and delved into them. I knew what I would find. Letters, postcards, cards, ancient bank statements, more letters, more postcards, a couple of photographs, even more letters ... Piles and piles and piles of paper, ranging from the letters my French pen-pal sent me when I was thirteen, to the letters I received in my last year at uni. Ten years of correspondence, mostly with friends and family, some with colleges, yet more with religious movements, unscrupulous landlords and even a letter from my local MP welcoming me to adulthood and urging me to vote. Everything that came through the letterbox has been kept, and I honestly can't bear to be rid of any of it. There's a letter from my French boyfriend, dumping a thirteen year old me. I remember that I didn't even care. There's a letter from my American pen-pal from about 1991 {we're still friends} gushing about how cool computers are and how wonderful it is to play with the fonts! I remember being quite impressed with her knowledge of those noisy white machines that didn't seem to do much but help you type stuff up. There's a bank statement from my first term at uni which shows that I was able to live on £10 a week. I remember that I used to drink like a fish in the student union bar round the corner from my halls. There's a formal letter from our vile landlord {second year at uni} with a whole list of things that we had to pay for when we reported him to Environmental Health and he then kicked us out. I remember waking up in that house in winter with everything in my room covered in a thin layer of moisture. There's a letter from the Scientologists inviting me to work for them for the summer. I remember they tried really hard to get me to join their mischievous little cult. I realise that some people will think me silly for keeping these things, but they're my memories. They're a part of me and my life. They signify different stages of Me, from an immature child to a blossoming young adult. They remind me of things I've forgotten and they are incredibly entertaining. And now? Now they're stuffed back into new plastic under-the-bed boxes, but they're still in the corner of the bedroom! *sigh*