My friends say I’m quite a nostalgic person. You name it, I’ve kept it. Concert tickets faded at the edges, postcards scribbled from far away places, love letters from a past that still lingers in ink. It’s all there, stashed away in a 6×8 Selfridge’s box given by someone I once held dear. The back of my phone is home to metro tickets from trips across Europe – scraps of memory preserved in flimsy plastic. My shoebox of a uni room is covered wall to wall with pictures of friends, family and holidays, offering comfort on days where the light shines less brightly. All around me are memories, reminding me of who I once was and who I have become.
Those who are fortunate enough to be subjected to my stream-of-consciousness-style Instagram posting, a concept to make even Virginia Woolf turn in her grave, know that they’re never safe from me and my trusty camera. Being the designated photographer friend means knowing the quiet trade-off: always the observer, rarely the subject. But this is part of the joy. These memories captured will last a lifetime, the smiles frozen mid-laughter, questionable bop outfits, and moments of pure chaos, all preserved for years to come.
But I’ve come to realise that these memories aren’t just windows into the past – they’re about preserving pieces of who we are now. Each ticket, photo and memento holds a moment of joy, a glimpse of growth and a connection to the people and places that have shaped us. In a world which never stops turning, these keepsakes provide a semblance of stability, serving as anchors connecting us to people, places, and feelings that might otherwise fade with time. These memories are not just our own, they belong to the people we share them with.
Through the lens of my camera or the slip of a metro ticket, these memories intertwine with the lives of others. As much as I love reminiscing, nostalgia isn’t just about clinging to the past, it’s about welcoming the future. With each new memory comes a new story to be told. Looking at the photos on my wall, I’m reminded of how much I’ve grown, how time has shaped me, and how the world around me continues to evolve. They are not just snapshots of what once was but reflections of change, evidence that every fleeting moment has led me to where I am now. Each photo holds a quiet reminder that the moments I once took for granted were shaping me in ways I never realised. Photographs aren’t just fragments of yesterday; they are stepping stones to the future, proof that life moves forward, and so must we.
So I’ll keep taking photos, until my box overflows and I must find another to fill.
Unboxing the past: Snapshots of self-reflection
