Some babies acquired a blanket when they were born. As those babies grew, they and the blanket were inseparable; although the blanket became merely shreds of fabric. For me, it was a little pink poodle, Fefe. 

She’s old. She’s worn out. She’s been loved. And for fifteen, she looks amazing.

Over the past fifteen years, she’s been everywhere: sleepovers, Canada, in the back of cars, etc. She has even survived the move where some–most–of my stuffed animals didn’t make it. She’s been re-homed and stowed away many, many, times, but I think from now on, I’ll keep her on my bed, for the wholesome memories might leave and never come back. 

She’s one of many memorabilia in my room that symbolize and represent something. Fefe symbolizes strength and how childish I can be. For instance, I still order chicken nuggets and pasta at restaurants and sleep with a night light–kind of embarrassing, but I don’t mind. There are signs, articles of clothing, pictures, lei’s, and Mardi Gras beads that are a part of happy memories. More specifically, the rocks I have. 

These rocks aren’t shiny or have special properties–they are just rocks I find fascinating. 

As a little kid, I was the only one who had a crazed obsession with dinosaurs, fossils, and rocks. I would check out the same books from the school library each week just to fuel my odd craving. An honorable mention is The Good Dinosaur (2015). I’ve watched The Good Dinosaur an unhealthy amount of times, even though I’m no longer a kid with an odd obsession. I just want to feel the excitement of turning it on and seeing dinosaurs. 

Around my room, there are pictures and artwork of Paris and French culture. Why? Because I had a “Paris” phase circa 2014-2015. I wanted to be as close to Kaelyn from Seven Super Girls as I possibly could–who didn’t? 

The two black and white photos are real photos of Paris–there used to be three but I don’t actually know where the third went. Whilst my parents were in Paris for their Honeymoon, they took pictures of “the City of Love.” Real authentic photos of Paris; nothing could be more perfect for my younger self. 

I’ve grown out of those phases a long time ago, but I keep them around rather than tucking it under my bed and calling it a day. Except, I don’t keep them around because I’m lazy. I keep the memorabilia around as a reminder. 

Dear older self, 

Please don’t ever let go of childhood memories. Don’t ever change because “it’s odd” or “weird.” Keep it around. If not, it might run away and haunt later. Stay true and whole. Not fake–that will harm the mind later. 

-Sydney