Every Trinket Holds a Story

I am guilty of hoarding more "trash" than the average person- probably to a fault. I find I can't throw away some of these random tchotchkes.


What I describe as a sentimental item, most would consider trash. Garbage. It is absolutely bewildering that some people can throw away event/movie ticket stubs, receipts, or branded paper bags. I like to keep these things, not for what they are, but what they represent. I attach memories to them.


I often go out of my way and ask for a paper receipt. For me, it's not a burden that I later throw away. It's a memory I can look back on and transport myself to a simpler time, recalling the place, the company, and the feeling of being there. 


Plastered all over my fridge are random receipts from group dinners or handwritten recipes of dinner parties I've hosted. I can recall the events of each night and even specific conversations down to what each person (roughly) said. I believe that these random trinkets serve as proof of existence- evidence that I was there. That I was alive. That I lived. 


Every trinket holds a story.

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