I've been mulling over the same thought for pretty much all of last week: It's odd how we can embody thoughts and emotions into simple objects that are near worthless in themselves. In preparing for the MCAT, I needed an analogue watch to time myself. I knew I had one somewhere, but I had to dig through all my boxes to find it. Eventually I did find it, but in the process of searching, I uncovered an envelope of treasured trinkets. Among the gems I had kept were a yellow metal paperclip, a carpet string, a piece of cement, and a serviette from Taco Bell.

• The paperclip reminds me of my cousin yodaslap, from whom I stole the paperclip. (I took it because I liked the colour.) It reminds me of staying up way too late my first college Winter Break talking and listening to music, Robert Miles and Erasure in particular. I never really did like either of the two, but there are a lot of good memories attached and so I still throw a couple of those songs on my playlist every so often.
• I pulled the carpet string from the floor of the dorm room of a friend of mine. We were just chatting in the hallway one evening and I saw a loose piece near the edge. We never talked much about anything in particular, but it was always fun visiting him. Even now, I still get a kick out of acting all goofy with him and doing rather infantile things such as chasing each other (he's always the more agile) or playing hide-and-seek.
• The cement, however, brings back the most poignant memories. I spent many nights sitting on the same cement block talking with a friend who was once very dear to me. This was right by the door outside her dorm. On nice nights, we'd sit outside; on chillier ones, we'd sit in the stairwell just beyond the door. And we could talk about anything and everything. I don't think I've had ever felt that way about anyone before or since. But now we never talk, and I'm strangely Ok with that.
• The serviette from Taco Bell isn't just any serviette. It's got a signed declaration on it (complete with witness signature) that my friend would not get sick of me and another friend before he graduated. One day after church, the three of us decided to hit up Taco Bell for lunch and that's when we wrote it. I don't think he ever did get sick of me, which is a good thing. We spent many nights staying up late hanging out--sometimes even past sunrise. I've pulled more all-nighters hanging out with him than doing homework. (I suppose that isn't saying much because I've only ever pulled one all-nighter for schoolwork, but still.)

The things in the envelope didn't just bring back isolated memories of how they came into my possession: they conjured up a torrent of recollections and emotions of the people so unrelated to the objects themselves. It is really these memories that are the treasures, too ephemeral to be captured in any other way.