Over the years, I put all my special things in that chest. Love letters from my boyfriends and future husband. ID badges from my jobs. The program from the Young Talent Time concert I went to with my sister. My Brownie Guide Manual. The edition of TV Week I featured in after my short lived career as an actress. Broken watches and pieces of jewelry and notes from my friends and a dozen or more handwritten journals.
My life was in that chest.
This is not my chest (or phone, or plant, or truck) but it's very similar indeed
When I moved out of my marital home last year, the chest moved with me. There was no room for it in my current bedroom, so I put it out in the lounge room. But the idea of my most personal, private possessions being out in the lounge room made me feel too intensely vulnerable. The thought that one of my kids or their friends could rummage through that chest, sifting through my woeful poems and diarized confessions and proclamations of unrequited love was just too agonizingly hideous to contemplate.
It was time for the chest to give up its contents, and be put to use for some other purpose.
I transferred all my papers and books and treasures into an air-tight plastic wheelie, which now lives in the back of the store room. The chest is now filled with DVDs and strange power cords and random fragments of technology that I am too scared to discard. It is a platform for Lego and My Little Ponies and pillows and the cat, and is battered and weathered and chipped.
But I love that chest, and it will always be with me. And one day, I want it to live on in the home of my eldest daughter.
As for the wheelie bin of memories, well, the idea of someone looking at them is still too hideous to contemplate. Then again, there's an amazing Young Talent Time program there that someone will really love... and an ID badge from David Jones that's kind of cute... and some airmail letters from my ex boyfriend R that are really very special...
Think I'm just going to pop down to the storeroom for a while....