the many forms of bookmark
my tendency of holding on to everything, even the most unremarkable and needless, has unexpectedly led to a growing collection of bookmarks.
a random clothing tag. A postcard carrying words from a friend across the miles. A brewing guide from a quiet tea shop i used to hang out at in Chiang Mai. A lucky envelope from a past New Year. A polaroid from an old trip — of people who have since gone their separate ways.
they're still there, resting between the pages of books i've read. At what point did these scattered forgotten things turn into keepsakes — fragments of time, silent sediments of the places i've been, of the person i once was? Some still tug at my heartstrings, while others feel like remnants of a past life so distant and estranged.
i wonder: do we choose our memories,
or are we merely vessels for what chooses to stay?
