5 October 2026 · 4 min read
The Things We Carry
As we go through life we have so many things with us.
The names we used to call with love.
Faces which remain familiar even after a number of years have gone by.
Conversations that have long since ended yet still go on within us.
Locations that were formerly homes.
The words of a person which we have been able to remember even though time has altered everything else around us.
There are certain things that we choose to carry.
We retain photographs since we don't want some moments to vanish. We keep old letters, preserve gifts, and hold onto small objects which contain stories greater than their size. At times, we go back to old messages, visit places we know well, or listen to songs that are from a different phase of our lives.
There are also some memories which we possess without being aware of them.
They gradually become part of ourselves.
A laugh that brings back a memory of someone we used to know.
We still use that phrase because it was once said to us in a loving manner.
It brings back to mind a childhood afternoon because of the scent of rain.
The sound of a door being opened in a house which no longer exists.
The flavour of food prepared by hands which we can no longer possess.
There are certain memories which do not require our attention.
They simply wait.
Somewhere deep within us.
On a normal day something causes them to return.
A song plays unexpectedly.
It seems strangely familiar when you see a face in a crowd.
A single line in a book causes us to pause for a moment.
A voice has in it a forgotten echo.
A fragrance passes by.
And suddenly, time folds.
For a short while we are not in the present anymore.
We are there again.
Back in that room.
Back on that road.
Back beside that person.
Once again within that incomplete conversation.
What comes back is not merely a memory of what took place.
What one gets back is the sensation.
The kind of happiness we used to feel.
The fear that we had forgotten.
The situation was innocent at that moment.
The thrill of being young.
The pain we survived.
The warmth that we still have.
There are times when memories resurface things about which we were sure we had forgotten.
That might be the quiet magic of memory.
It doesn't always grasp the limits of time.
A moment that occurred twenty years ago can at times seem more recent than yesterday.
It is possible for a person whom we have not met for decades to seem completely present for a few seconds.
A house from our childhood that is merely a memory can still seem to be the safest place on earth.
Maybe it is because we are looking for them that memories do not return.
It's possible that they will return once a part of us is ready to meet them once more.
It is common to believe that memories are part of the past.
Perhaps they also show who we have become.
Each experience has something left behind.
A lesson.
A kindness.
A scar.
A smile.
A different perspective on the world.
The same child who had looked through that window is still somewhere in the person now looking back.
Even though the person we used to love is no longer by our side, the thing they taught us might still affect the way we see love.
A conversation which lasted just a few minutes can quietly influence the decision we make years later.
The place that we left behind might still be reflected in the way we see belonging.
Which is why certain memories seem to be more like rooms inside us than like photographs.
We can go back to rooms.
Sit quietly inside.
Listen.
Feel.
And then return to the present with something that we had not realised that we still had.
Perhaps that is the reason why we tell stories.
Why we preserve photographs.
The reason why old letters come to be regarded as treasures.
The reason why some books become companions.
The reason why a specific song can cause us to stop in the middle of a regular day.
We are concerned with preserving moments from the past as well.
We are holding on to parts of ourselves.
And somewhere between remembering who we were and understanding who we are today, we discover something quietly beautiful:
Some memories are not from the past.
They still exist in us.