September 3, 2025

There was a pencil case that came with the schoolbag I received as a gift when I started elementary school. If I remember correctly, I continued using it for about another year after entering Dream School—six years in all. It was frayed and stained, but after using it for so long, I could hardly bring myself to throw it away.

Perhaps this is a habit of mine: holding on to an object until I have wrung every last bit of life out of it. These shoes are no exception. I cannot remember exactly when I bought them, but it was sometime in middle school, and I still wear them. Apparently I did not account for my feet growing, because they are a size smaller than what I wear now: 260 mm. They are badly worn, but these sneakers have carried me through two long cross-country treks, countless PE classes, and the small routines of my everyday life.

What do these things mean to me that I cling to them so stubbornly? Is it that I cannot let go of the past, or do I simply need things to remember? Perhaps even my identity is made up of little things like these.