There’s
always the question—once you move on from something—which memories should you
hold on to? Which ones do you save? So often, we keep the mementos from happier
times… Some tchotchke from our desk at our old job [1] or the personal
effects of a former significant other when we couldn’t drum up the courage to chance
a face to face meeting—but that we couldn’t seem to dispense with, either.
Everyone has
their own coping mechanisms…
Some slash
and burn. Pile it up, douse it with petrol, and watch it burn. [2]
Others will
toss everything out—dispose of it—forget it.
If valuable,
others may hock, pawn, or exchange it.
Sometimes we store it—ignore it—waiting for the time when that bite of pain that doesn’t lance each time we focus upon it… A time capsule to be opened later on. [3]
Another
might place it front and center. Repurpose it. Hoping that with repeated
exposures that the memories will dim—that eventually one will forget the origins.
I prefer a
mixed method.
Shred the
photos, keep the chuyo. [4]
[1]
A seafoam green 1980’s hand crank label maker. I’m never letting it go.
[2]
You know, safely… with a fire extinguisher on hand and an up to date knowledge
of what your local fire department will and will not allow… This premeditation
takes out some of the [satisfying] wrath of the act, I know, but few people—or jobs—are
worth third degree burns or an arson charge.
[3]
One we hope won’t fester or bite us in the ass upon recovering it in some long
lost corner of our consciousness.
[4]
In the end, the act of shredding photos was so satisfying, I threw a couple of old
exes’ pics into the mix for good measure. Who knew?