the sanctity of scrapbooking
Today I added to my scrapbook.
Scrapbooking is not something I do often, or do well for that matter. But I do find it strangely necessary.
Throughout my life, I have struggled to get rid of small, rather innocuous things, not to the degree of some people— I do regularly winnow down the things I keep— but the pang of sentimentality still stings true.
Most of these things, thankfully, are small slips of paper: drawings and doodles, little notes written to me or by me, ticket stubs and stamps.
Rather easy to tape or stick onto the pages of a scrapbook.
And so that is what I have done.
It’s been a slow progression. And some pages are decidedly more beautiful than others. But I do find a great amount of fulfillment in the process, and a solid amount of joy.
Although I say I like looking back on the past, I am often plagued by my memories, and I find myself repeatedly getting my foot stuck in them, captivated by the innocent disconnect from reality. But this deliberate recognition, this honoring of my past self feels healthier and more grounded. There’s a space for those memories now; one that is outside of my head and imagination.
The page today was very much a tribute to my childhood. There were a bunch of horse and teddy bear stickers, all unable to stick to the page due to their age, so I had to tape them down haphazardly; a bookmark decorated with the fruits of the spirit that I made as a child; a set of stamps depicting bioluminescent life that I had cut away from their envelopes, all which had been sent to me during college by my father; several drawings of plants that I had done at various points in my life, mostly in pencil.
It was messy and not incredibly aesthetically pleasing. But it was very much me, and very much depicted who I was as a child. And that, I think, is valuable. Even though I have grown and changed so much as a person, the little things like this still matter to me. My inner child still lives on.
~dys