Describe an item you were incredibly attached to as a youth. What became of it?
There is a question people often ask with nostalgia in their voice:
“Was there something you were deeply attached to as a child?”
A toy.
A book.
A blanket.
Something that carried comfort.
I wish I had an answer that fits neatly into that memory box.
But I don’t.
Growing up, I didn’t have that one thing the kind you protect, hide, or cry over when it’s lost. Not because I didn’t want it, but because life didn’t really allow attachments to settle.
Things came and went.
Spaces changed.
Responsibilities arrived early.
So instead of attaching myself to objects, I learned something else.
I learned to let go.
As a child, I watched items age, break, disappear, sometimes without warning, sometimes without explanation. There was no ceremony, no goodbye. Just acceptance. And slowly, that acceptance became a habit.
I didn’t keep souvenirs.
I didn’t hold onto childhood treasures.
I held onto moments instead.
The warmth of a quiet afternoon.
The comfort of silence.
The strength it takes to adapt.
If I look back now, I realize something important:
not having an object to be attached to taught me resilience early on.
I learned not to define safety through things.
I learned that memories don’t always need physical proof.
I learned that loss doesn’t always arrive dramatically sometimes it just blends into growth.
So what became of that item I was attached to?
It never existed.
And maybe that’s why today, I don’t cling easily.
I appreciate deeply, but I don’t possess.
I value presence more than permanence.
There’s a quiet strength in that.
Not every childhood story is wrapped in nostalgia.
Some are wrapped in survival.
And those stories matter just as much.
—Rajeshwari 💕