I readily admit that I have sentimental attachment to objects. When I see minimalist friends’ living spaces, I admire them and think that I would like having so many clear surfaces too, but then I go to recycle my piles of paper and the process is slow because each brings back a memory.
Recently I went through my paper bag from my recent years in France and found:
- Printed list of “Contacts in France”- names, phone numbers, and addresses. It was only one page and listed literally everyone I knew in the country. A family friend, the former director of my undergraduate study abroad program, my former host family, a friend, and several acquaintances. Included a note at the bottom on how to dial French numbers from the U.S. and vice versa, which would later become second nature to me. +001…
- Printed list of my online address book, just in case. Contrary to the previous list, was very long and in tiny typeface.
- My boarding pass from Newark airport to Paris Charles de Gaulle.
- My ‘carte jeune’ and its cute little holder provided by SNCF. The carte jeune is a travel pass for 18-27 year olds that cost 50 euros a year at the time. It paid for itself many times over through reductions on train tickets.
- A faded receipt for my first dinner in Paris—Chez Gladines with my friend and her boyfriend, the people I was staying with while I looked for an apartment. I remember sitting in the restaurant with them and feeling grateful to be with familiar friends rather than alone.
- A form I had signed authorizing the school region I taught for to post on their web site an audio recording of me and two other teaching assistants (a Welsh and a Texan) singing Christmas songs.
- A handwritten list an American friend and I made of Christmas carols we planned to sing in front of Hôtel de Ville.
- Sketches of girls doing crew. In preparation for a customized tote bag I painted for a friend who was my Secret Santa recipient.
- A list of rules for a photo competition that I entered at a public library. Thème ‘la gourmandise.’ All photos were displayed at the library.
- Ticket stubs for museums, exhibits, and shows. For ballets, operas, plays, and concerts, often offered by friends and acquaintances. Including:
- A terrible play a date took me to. At least we both thought it was bad.
- “Cinquante Nuances.” No, I don’t think it portrays a healthy relationship. Yes, it was a heck of a fun night with two girl friends. As long as you don’t romanticize the story or think it is something to aspire to, I say enjoy its ridiculousness guilt-free.
- The name of a singer and song title noted on the back of a receipt by someone I dated. I enjoyed listening to him play it on his guitar frequently, but I never remembered what it was called, so I had asked him to write it down before I left Paris.
I never listen to it.
- Handwritten by me on a scrap of napkin during a brief trip back to the States:
I don’t know how to swipe my Metro card.
I don’t know how to order coffee.
But there was cocoa, cinnamon, brown sugar, white sugar, soy milk, and cream.
I don’t know how to hug.
No need to reprimand me for keeping these– I threw out all of the above items, enfin. With regards to the last item, I have relearned how to live in the land of choices and to commute in the city of “Please swipe again.”