A wall of wonder

As you may be able to see from my header, I have a wall of postcards. I've been thinking a lot about these postcards recently because I had a move about of my study and, as often happens when you start moving things around without planning it out, I became slightly overwhelmed by the amount of stuff I have. Trapped, in fact. Trapped by my past but also by all the things that I hoped would be.

I don't know if it's the same for everyone, but for me things take on a life of their own. So, a crappy broken necklace I keep in a box on my desk is forever associated with my brother when we were younger. 

He found it for me up a hill when on french camp. He had an awful time at french camp. He was bullied very badly and was homesick. And yet, he saw a pretty broken necklace on a walk in the rain when he was feeling unhappy and he thought of me and picked it up and brought it back. 

So I can't throw that old broken necklace away because it would be like throwing away that moment. It's silly of course, because it still happened whether or not I have the necklace. But keeping the necklace is proof and it makes me remember. 

Well. I was sitting on my floor surrounded by this kind of clutter. The kind of clutter that to an outsider means nothing. But is in fact steeped in emotions and memories. And I was feeling exasperated. Why keep these things? 

I have boxes and boxes of old letters that I used to receive from my friends. Friends I saw every day, and still wrote to with alarming regularity. These letters are full of nothings. But nothings that are strangely significant and bitter sweet. I hate to think what the ones I wrote in reply are like. I would never like anyone to trawl through them at a later date to assess my psyche or to get an impression of my childhood and teenage years. Angst ridden, delusional and arrogant I suspect they are. My bossy know-it-all younger self can be a cringe worthy memory to revisit at times.

But anyway, to my wall. As I sat there, trying to sort through all the genuine clutter worth keeping and the bits and bobs that weren't, I came across a stash of postcards that I had brought ages ago with the intention of putting up on my wall.

 I love postcards. Postcards of everything. Beautiful postcards, silly postcards, thought provoking postcards, inspirational postcards... if it touches a nerve, or emotion in me, up it goes on the wall. People send them to me, or make them. I buy them at exhibitions I enjoyed, or I collect free ones from cafes.

I can't really remember when this started. I have a feeling that my dear friend Pamela may have helped instigate it, I certainly remember collecting stacks of the free postcards you used to get at cinemas with her. She is also largely responsible for much of my collection, having sent them to me over the years with unerring taste of what I like. I still get a tingle of excitement when I receive a letter from her, just in case she's slipped in a postcard for me. 

It's not just postcards, there are greeting cards, pictures from diaries, or magazines, hand drawn post it notes, photos and even interesting book marks or ticket stubs. They span years as well. Some I have had since I was little, carefully preserved for the time I would have a wall to put them on. Some are from my days at Uni, some are from my times of travelling. Some I love with a strange intensity because they epitomise something special or something I yearn for. Others I have up because I don't understand them, or because they are strange and unusual. But all of them have a story behind them (sometimes literally in the case of those written on and sent by my friend). I am confident that if required I could tell you where I got each and everyone of the cards and pictures on my wall. And why I have kept it. 

So, why do I keep them? Why the fascination with them? 

It's the same reason as I keep clutter. Because I love stories. And I love worlds within worlds. On my wall around me are countless possible stories and worlds. I need only look up and scan the erratic layout of cards to see glimpses of stories, to taste hints of other places, to remember emotions, to get sucked into a daydream. Like putting on a CD, a striking picture can remove me from myself and open up endless possibilities and I think I collect them because the idea of there never being possibilities or opportunities is terrifying for me.

There is so much in this world and there will never be enough time or money to see or experience it all, and this is not a bad thing. I think, with my wall of wonder I am trying to remind myself of this, that there is more to life than this square little room, that there is always something new and interesting to discover. That is wonderful to me. 


Oh, and I did eventually get the study sorted. It's much better now.


Rosie x