In my closet, I have piles of old photographs, some of which belonged to family members, some that friends have taken, and some that I just sort of found, not knowing who took them or when. I'm pretty much in love with thrift stores, whether I'm buying clothing to wear or just shopping around for jewelry, decorations, or little trinkets (or anything else I may impulsively buy in which I have no purpose for). Pieces of writing from hundreds or even thousands of years ago fascinate me. I like old abandoned houses or buildings, I think they're beautiful. Basically, I like a lot of odd, old stuff.
This is part of my desire to own things that once belonged to another person. The item could have belonged to a family member, friend, stranger, it doesn't matter. What matters is that someone else had owned it, used it, or loved it before I did. I feel a special connection to items like this, even if they're items that I have literally no use for whatsoever (a.k.a. the boxes full of clutter in my room that I cannot part with).
I believe that every item has a "life". Yes, I know that objects are not living things. What I mean by that is this: I believe that from the moment an item is made, something is written, or a photograph has been taken, it's existence means something to somebody, and in this way, it is given "life". It could have made feel something (happy, sad, nostalgic, etc.), or held a memory for the person who owns it.
When the next person owns whatever the item may be, it will mean something completely different to them.
This idea might sound a little confusing, so I'll give you an example of what I mean.
A teddy bear is made in a factory and is bought by parents to give to their daughter for her birthday. That's the beginning of this item's "life". To the parents, the bear is a gift to represent their love for their daughter. The gift is given and the daughter loves it too. She plays with it for years, treating the bear as if it was a living being. To the daughter, the bear is a companion, something to hold and touch and stimulate her imagination.
As she grows older, she doesn't play with it anymore, and the bear gets packed away in a box. One day, this girl's children find the box and open it up. They ask their mother about the bear, and she tells them about how much she loved it as a child. Now the bear is something that holds happy memories, a story to tell.
Years pass once again, and one day this woman dies, leaving her children with all her belongings. Now, whenever her children see the old, beat-up teddy bear, they become nostalgic and sad. It serves as a reminder of their mother and who she was in her lifetime, and of how much they miss her. The bear eventually gets donated, and it is given to another child. This child begins to enjoy the bear all over again. The teddy bear over time has absorbed so many emotions and memories belonging to all different people.
In this way, old objects hold some sort of importance to me. Things that used to belong to other people that now belong to me make me think about how different each and every person's experiences are from the next. It makes me wonder what that person's life was like. In owning something that was at one point part of another person's life, I feel as if I get the privilege of carrying a piece of their life with me. I'm holding on to a piece of their memories, and I can now make new memories with it. I feel connected to people that I may not have ever even known, all through something as simple as an old photo.
