So every time we travel I never miss out on a chance to purchase things I can use to organize my precious "trash." I always bring home those old-fashioned leather-bound scrapbooks or those nice memory boxes where I can just store mementos at no particular order. Just recently Sheila, a friend of mine, gifted me with another beautiful, memory box. I couldn’t have been happier because especially now with a child, there will be more keepsakes to treasure and safekeep.
Ariel and Gelli Rivera, in their home, have dedicated a full wall to store and display their mementoes. They gave a whole bunch of it to an artist who laid it out beautifully in a series of window-box type of frames. It looks melancholic, downright sweet and, just like me when I go through my own keepsakes, I’m sure the mere sight gives both of them something to smile about.
Sometimes though, I forget that just because I’m sentimental doesn’t mean everyone else is.
Case in point: Richard and I have matching shirts, especially sleeping shirts. We don’t make an effort to wear them at the same time but it’s nice enough knowing we have a perfect match. Once when we were in Hong Kong, I got a nice shirt from a store that Richard liked too but his size was not available. So on that trip alone, because I knew he wanted that shirt aside from the fact that I wanted us to have a perfect match, I searched through four other branches until I finally found one.
Several months later he came home from a variety show where he performed alongside April Boy Regino who is famous for throwing caps or his top to the audience. I was watching on TV and saw Richard take off his shirt to throw to the audience, too. I remember that the girl from the audience who got it fell off from the second level when she was fighting for Richard’s shirt. Colors can look different on TV but I had a gnawing feeling that it was the shirt that took me four branches to find that he had given away. I asked him as soon as he got home and true enough he said it was The One. He totally did not remember the history of the shirt because he even asked me, "Why, what shirt was that?" It would sound really petty if I harped on how long it took me to find that shirt and how I never would have given away the shirt had the situation been reversed. Well, in the first place, I would never have forgotten where I got it or who gave it. So deep inside I was really wondering, "How could he?"
Second case in point: I gave Richard a nice blue long-sleeved shirt on our first Christmas together. We were still an engaged couple then and soon after I gave it, he wore it. I was happy to see the shirt on him, glad enough that it fit well and that he liked the soft material. That was the first time he wore it. And the last. The poor shirt, for five years now, has been hanging in his closet among his multitude of shirts, un(der)utilized. Every now and then when I fix his clothes, I see my first Christmas present to him staring back at me, looking as good as new, and I cannot help but feel bad that he seems not to like it enough to wear it again. Sob, sob, sob. Come to think of it, it is a bit dressy and had I known better I could just have given him a plain white shirt that I know he will use again and again.
To make matters worst, my forgetful husband seems to have forgotten I even gave him that shirt! Every year, we both go through our closets and set aside stuff that we know will be put to better use when given to others. Most of these clothes, especially Richard’s, we’ve worn only a few times so they’re practically good as new, some he has never worn at all. I give away a bunch of my pants, dresses, and shirts to whoever is the same size as me – my cousins, close friends, some even to the househelp. The same with Richard; he gives them away to whoever will fit into them.
But there are clothes that I absolutely will not part with–purely for sentimental reasons. Tops that Richard personally handpicked for me, those given by close friends, a nightshirt given by my brother’s yaya, tops my brothers and my sister gave me, a dress I wore on our honeymoon, the shirt I wore when my pregnancy test came out positive...the list just go on and on. For me, it’s always easier to part with something I bought than with something I was given. Each year we take out the ones we are willing to let go to make room for the new ones.
And each year I see that blue shirt in the pile of clothes he is willing to give away. I would pick it up, hold it up for him to see, and remind him that I gave it to him. Quickly he would take it from me and probably in an effort to make me feel good, would say that he unintentionally pulled it out along with the others. Napasama lang. But each year the same thing would happen. This year, it happened at a time when I was harassed trying to get all the Christmas gifts delivered. I had a very long day and tired as I was, I sat on the dressing room floor where Richard was sorting out clothes. Then I saw it. Again. I tiredly held it up and like a broken record, for the nth time told him it was my first Christmas present to him. I left to take a shower but before doing so, I told him maybe it would be better if indeed he just gave it away because then at least somebody can put it to better use.
With that, I told myself I wasn’t going to feel bad anymore. Just because I’m a sentimental basurera doesn’t mean everyone else should be, too. And that shirt shouldn’t be a gauge of how much Richard loves and treasures me. Instead of dwelling on what he forgets, I will choose to remember what he doesn’t: bringing me flowers for no particular reason or occasion, getting me a thick jacket to keep me warm even when I don’t ask him to, replacing my cell phone with a new one when he sees mine is broken and a practically held together with rubber band (I hate changing units and even if I have an old model, I’d rather be stuck with it than get acquainted with an entirely new one), cooking for me, not switching the channel as I watch all the soaps on TV, calling up the helper when I’m down with the flu and he’s out of the house just to make sure I have hot soup and I take my medicines on time, singing Juliana to sleep when I’m too tired to do so.
When I finished my shower, the dressing room was once again spic and span. The helper had already folded all the clothes neatly in boxes. But just last night when I opened his closet I was surprised to find the offensive blue shirt again hanging there. Apparently my sweet husband, again in an effort to make me feel better, set it aside for the nth time, probably with every intention of using it. But I just know another year will again pass and he won’t even remember. So I’ll just take it down, fold it and store it out of sight. At least this non-living thing won’t have another opportunity to make me feel bad and neither will my husband have a reason to feel guilty. Why force the issue? It may be a nice shirt I lovingly chose for him but there’s just no chemistry between them.
So to simplify things, I will take it upon myself to keep that first Christmas present. I don’t know for who (perhaps for our future son?) or for how long and although I can always choose to give it away, for now I want to just keep it close – if only for sentimental reasons.