We rush into the store, filled with anticipation at the prospect of purchasing more useless items.
A few moments prior, we had just discovered that Dollar Tree was selling Doorables. These useless toys, made out of plastic, have no real use to two teenagers. Despite this fact, we proceeded into the store with only one goal in mind: buy the Doorables. After purchasing the items, we ran to the car and excitedly ripped open the plastic bags to see what figure was waiting inside for us. After all the bags were opened, we parted ways and went home. Over time, as the initial excitement faded, the Doorables were thrown into a closet corner or dusty basement.
Even though I don’t do anything with the toys and have a growing pile of them in my room, I still enjoy collecting them. It is not the physical item that I like; instead, it is the people I collect these with that bring me joy.
I don’t collect simply for the joy of collecting. It is always the people I collect these things with that make me happy; they are the reason I got into Squinkies, Shopkins, Pokémon cards, rocks, and Doorables.
When I was younger, I bought, played with, and traded my toys. I enjoyed creating new worlds filled with plastic figurines. My mind could wander to new, more exciting places where I was filled with peace. They filled the cities, had made-up conversations—narrated by me—and had their own lives and personalities.
Now, they lie in a dark corner doing nothing but collecting dust. I don’t buy them with the intent of playing with them or trading them; rather, I purchase them simply for the joy of opening the package and doing it with my best friend.
I never collected things with no intent; I collected them with the purpose of exchanging these items with others. We would bike to each other’s houses and lay out all the things we had gathered. Then, we would proceed to inspect the items the other person had brought and would barter with each other for the best deal.
Switching and swapping these pointless toys, all having the exact same value, held different meanings to us—some were much more valuable. I will always remember sitting in the Dollar Tree parking lot and lining up our toys in rows, the farthest back being ones in the “never trading” category as we sorted them by how much we loved each one.
When I look back on that time, I am filled with happy memories, and I genuinely miss that point in my life. While I no longer collect things with the same intent as when I was younger, I still find a lot of joy in buying these little trinkets with my best friend.
