Memories and things.

One and two.

One:

If you were to ask me how much I can hold on to things, I’d probably start by telling you I still have slum books from secondary school, a lot of cringe letters filled with those 2go era abbreviations, and things no one else (except God) knows about me.

In my last letter, I mentioned how I recently lost a dear friend. The past few days have been anything but linear. My mood has been fluctuating like Nigeria’s power supply. Whew.

But in the midst of the grief, I’ve come to see something clearly: keeping things, whether they’re handwritten notes or memories tucked away in a journal, is my way of holding on to something when everything else feels like it’s slipping through my fingers.

“Keepsake” is a word I added to my vocabulary in 2023, after my cousin used it in her tribute to our grandmother. It just stuck with me since then.

Keepsakes aren’t limited to material things. Asides from pictures, I realised that my other favourite keepsakes are voices, laughter, messages, and voice notes. Yes, all of it.

Since my friend’s passing, I’ve found myself going back to read all our old conversations. Like, every single message. I’ve replayed voice notes. I’ve combed through his socials, replayed videos, stared at his pictures, and immersed myself in every single update, tribute, and memory shared about him.

In the first few days, doing this made me really sad but I wouldn’t stop. Now, strangely, it makes me feel like he’s still here. Like somehow, all these fragments are keeping him close.

Interestingly, there was also a song he recommended many months ago (one I never got around to listening to) but now, I finally did. And it felt like opening a gift he left behind without even knowing. I even went back to read one of his books. It felt like in every line, I could hear his voice again.

P.S: Create, create, create! Art lives on. Make Art. Make memories. (We’ll pick this up another day).

All these keepsakes have taken on new meaning in loss. They remind me that memory can carry just as much weight as the individual who lived them.

A card my late Grandma once gave me on my birthday

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Two:

Happy Easter weekend.

I haven’t been very contemplative about the season, not until yesterday when I realised that this season actually carries its own kind of keepsakes.

💌. The precious blood of Christ that was shed. It will always speak.

💌. The linen clothes left behind in the tomb. Evidence of an empty grave, yes, but also confirmations of a risen Saviour.

💌. The scarred hands of Jesus. A painful, yet purposeful reminder.

💌. The act of breaking bread. “Do this in memory of me” is enough to remind you that it is a keepsake.

All of these, a story, of presence after absence. Which, by the way, is the whole point of keepsakes. They help us see again. They remind us that what looks like an ending can also hold the beginning of something deeper. The resurrection confirms that suffering wasn’t wasted. That loss wasn’t the last word.

This year, Easter reminds me that grief and hope can coexist. So I’m learning to cherish what was while I do not forget what is and what will be.

My heart is finding comfort in what always stands, reminders of love that even loss cannot steal. I’m learning to make peace with what I can no longer hold, by embracing what I still can.

Thank God, some things, even when the person they represent isn’t tangible, they will never lose their meaning.

Thank you for reading. Until next time. 💛

Yours in Quality Time,
Adébọ́lá. 🦋