My treasure box

Last night as I sat watching a movie and looking for something to do after that, thanks to the non- functional internet connection and the lack of another bearable movie. After a while when I had given up at finding a good book I opened up drawers of my old study table, the one I had been gifted when I was in my third standard (7 years old). Out came pouring everything it held. And then it wasn't just time that seemed to have passed. Untouched as it had been for years together, I realised how it preserved small glimpses of all the years I spent at home. From pens and papers with weird calculation and notes to address books with names and numbers of childhood friends. Even their names sounded like puzzles to me now. Broken pieces of old jewellary, preserved letters, half done sketches, activity books, there seemed no end to this. Hastily pulling everything out I tried to recollect when I had acquired each of those things and how, giving up at a few times I did manage to recollect most, which included little parting gifts from friends who wept and bid goodbye as I moved from one town to another. Everything came crashing on me, and before I realised I could picture vivid images of each of them, of old homes, schools and what not.
As I dug deeper into the shelves I discovered folders stacked with papers filled with bits of kiddish poetry, of sketched and painted animals and lastly a few report cards. Pulling them out I found, they were grade sheets that belonged to me and my bro spanning every year of our schooling. It was quite funny to look through them and read those numbers which perhaps meant the world to me then, which I now laughed at. 1st grade....Maths -80....Grammar and Composition- 65....Science- 95.....I read and I am rolling with laughter even unmindful of the fact that I am at home and its not exactly the time when you can laugh out loud and let people wake up to see what you are upto and term you crazy.
Scanning through everything I collected bits of small things and put them aside to carry along. They weren't things I'd ever need or miss, but the kinds I had treasured as a kid and didn't have the heart to part with after recovering them.
I wish to do this again, collect glimpses of my life in small souveniers and stack them in a box...something like a treasure box which I can open up to look back at things and people in the past. It feels beautiful to do that, and somewhere it is a reminder of how far behind you leave people sometimes or how quickly you move on. Or perhaps simply how life is all about just moving on...