CBMused

Last night amidst a mountain of documents from a 4-drawer filing cabinet accumulated over a decade, the desire to cull, purge and sort was strong. Being well-organised is as much a vice as it is an advantage.

Rummaging through the contents of the filing cabinet was like entering an Aladdin’s cave of memories. Amongst old bills, collected newspaper cuttings and travel brochures and memorabilia, snippets of a remembered past flashed with the lightening outside.

And I found his short story.

Mr N, whose age was just a number that would have put him in the ranks of a grandfather, had lent me a small portfolio of his writing, meticulously typewriter-written and edited. One story had a profound effect on me at the time, and with his permission, I had kept a copy. To what purpose, I cannot recall. I scanned through the words, remembering the friendship with a gentleman who had passed on but not before teaching me an age-old lesson in life.

Sorting through another folder of past work, I reviewed a series of names, filed in alphabetical order with the identifying comment I had given each person. “The nicest man I’ve ever met” was written on his card, a label so worthy and well-deserved that it did not need his name on it, as identifying as his signature hat and winter scarf. My heart leaped when I noticed his date of birth: 16 June.

Memories may be filed deep in drawers or in cavernous filing cabinets, or they may be archived in our minds, yet suddenly they unravel through the touch of an ageing piece of paper, the echo of a few notable words or past sentiments that linger with us for the rest of our lives.

– For Mr N, In Memory of His Birthday

Do you recall the thrills of the past where you would open your mailbox and amongst AIR MAIL / PAR AVION stamped letters you found a colourful postcard sent from someone in far away lands?

During another attempt at cleaning out the garage, I stumbled upon a pile of old postcards, meticulously kept in a small box. As a one-time collector, sorting through them has taken me on a trip back in time, when handwritten snippet of holidays were the norm, when pictures made you dream of travel or the sender simply wanted to say, “thinking of you”.

The collection has inspired me to present a new and regular feature. Postcards to the Past will showcase some of these snapshots in time with a scanned image of the original card. While the content of each postcard will differ, I will be responding to each one, from the present, with an unexpected twist.

The inaugural postcard follows in the next post. It was the one that triggered archived sentiments which inspired this idea.

The Postcards to the Past series is dedicated to our memories, without which we would not feel whole.

“…memories continue to live, becoming part of the present, and the future’s past.”
Cléa in Martini Moments – 13 April 2008

There is a common perception that when a tragedy of sorts hits, we discover who our real friends are. Unmet expectations from close ones can shatter us while new friends emerge to support us and become our lifeline, diffusing much of our angst and fears. But once we have overcome that life-changing event, and our lives are on the mend, it is not uncommon for those friendships to fade, and consciously little effort is made to restore them.

It’s not that we are ungrateful or selfish. We often hold them in high esteem and always remember them for their kindness. But in essence, they serve as a reminder of a time best forgotten. They may have seen us at our worst and know our deepest vulnerabilities. Although they have played an active and key role in supporting us, we no longer wish to be reminded of those times.

These friendships wane. And we knowingly let go of them as we have let go of those turbulent times. More often than not, we remember them with wistful nostalgia yet we know beyond doubt that we were responsible for the denouement.

I could cite examples of renowned people who have lived through it, relationships that have survived serious illnesses to see a person into recovery yet the glue that held them together has loosened and come undone. It is ubiquitous to life if we take an honest and examining look around.

I have relinquished such a friendship for similar reasons. I could unconvincingly say that our interests had diverged but I know that she will always be a reminder of a time I must file in the archives in order to live a brighter present.

Yet despite my valid reasons, it leaves me with a little sadness.

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Have you been in a friendship that you have let fade away because it triggers memories of a past best forgotten? Have you relinquished a relationship (or potential one) because the person may have seen you at your worst? Your opinion…

You know the feeling. You’re driving your car on an ordinary afternoon, and you veer unexpectedly in another direction. The mood overtakes you, and you let yourself go, quietly, without thought or resistance. You find yourself heading towards your favourite beach, down that familiar street which you’ve known well over memorable years. Your old home calls to you in the near distance. You slow down your car and see a parking spot right in front. You’re there now, so you switch off the engine of the present.

You look at the exterior of your old home. There is nothing to see but a simple façade. But beyond the bricks and the colourful paint, you see past shadows enact a previous life. You feel the comforts your home has afforded you over time. You see the ghosts of visitors move in and out of different rooms. You hear their raucous laughter around the kitchen bench. You remember the playful banter of the spacious living room. You hear the silent sounds emanate from your inspirational corner. You remember, no… you feel the sensation that often enveloped you with an invisible pair of arms.

You blink yourself back to the present as a noisy motorbike speeds down that street. You start your engine and cruise past the tiny café near the beach, now under new management, where you often shared a book and a macchiato. The radio station plays a retrospective, Boys of Summer, one of your favourites, and you sing along, Don’t look back. You can never look back… But you do, and not for the last time, as you gently accelerate towards the blinking city lights.