Montreal, QC

I got this lighter ten years ago. It was a birthday present from the man I would eventually cheat on my partner with. Although at the time I was riddled with guilt, this act of betrayal led to me leaving an unhappy relationship, quitting my depressing job, getting my high school diploma, and escaping my small town. I am now in the process of getting my PhD, something I never thought possible.

The lighter broke soon after I received it but I kept it anyways. When I look at the lighter, I am reminded of how much everything has changed. I like that the butterfly also happens to be a symbol of metamorphosis.

Montreal, QC

I used to be something of a goth, or maybe a metalhead. At any rate, I wore a lot of black – a lot of band t-shirts. I used to have this wallet chain. At the time, I half-knew it was ridiculous, but I thought it imbued my look with an air of coolness, perhaps even danger – an aspiration negated wholly by the fact that I was a doughy-faced bourgeois white girl, but which I nevertheless pursued with the demented zeal of someone who is really sick of being called cute: Don’t you see how black my shirt is? Don’t you hear the rumbling of post-punk blasting through my headphones? I nursed this pleasant illusion until the end of my second year of undergrad, when my wallet chain got caught in a bench, and broke as I attempted to get it free. At this point, my companions clapped with delight, exclaiming that I had liberated myself from the shackles of bad adolescent taste. The wallet has since been lost, but I’ve kept the cross necklace I wore with it.

Montreal, QC/Newfoundland

Paddock is a knit dog who was given to me by the congregation of my church when I left home to go to university. He was a familiar face and a piece of home in each of the various apartments I lived in while I was there.

In the summer of 2010, I got a job in Newfoundland, working as a tech for a theatre festival in a small town on the ocean. It was an amazing job, and an incredible summer, but it was very lonely. There wasn’t a lot to do in town, and I’d left all my friends, family, and my girlfriend 1000 miles away on the mainland. I felt incredibly isolated. Paddock reminded me that, far away though they were, there were people that loved me and missed me, and that I wasn’t alone. Since Newfoundland, Paddock travels with me, to remind me of what I come back to when I come home.

Montreal, QC

This is the 4th incarnation of the same hat that I have had for a long time. And the first version that I paid for. The others before it, all of which I lost, were all from a time in my life when I had a bad habit of stealing from department stores–the Klepto Years as I call them. For me this particular hat represents a change in my lifestyle, which then led to a greater change in myself and has since put me onto a truly positive, productive, and successful life path. Although I cared less for the other versions of the hat and then subsequently lost them, I’ve held onto this hat for many years now in much the same way as I have held onto my values and dreams. Although I am not proud of the way I was, I am not regretful of it either because it is part of the whole of me- and I am incredibly happy with who I am and where I’ve gotten to in my life.

This lampshade was given to me as a birthday present from my boyfriend. It always reminds me of one late night when the two of us were up watching an episode of New Girl in my room. We didn’t watch it often but when we did we would watch several episodes in a row.

I learned the next day from my roommate that we had been laughing so often and so loud that, on the other side of the wall, they thought we were losing our minds! At the time I didn’t even realize just how much fun we were having; we weren’t doing anything crazy or new, just relaxing at home together.

This lampshade reminds me of that night as, to our surprise, we discovered that the female lead in the show has the same one on her bedside table! We now live in different cities but whenever I look at the lamp I am always transported back to that cozy night filled with laughter together.

Montreal, QC/Toronto, ON

The summer after my high school graduation, my mom made me a quilt. One could call it a ‘memory quilt.’ Not only would it serve me well in the cold Toronto winters, but it also sparked fond childhood memories at times when I deeply needed the comfort of home. A patchwork of t-shirts from volleyball tournaments, band concerts, sleep-away camp, sports days, family trips, and so on – this kept me warm and smiling for all of my university years. The quilt is a memory of so many wonderful childhood experiences, friends, family and places, but more importantly, the quilt (and all quilts, in fact) reminds me of my amazing mom! The quilt is a symbol of how loving, generous, supportive and talented my mom is. I smile every time I look at it and think of her.

Montreal, QC

My grandpapa was one of Santa Claus’ helpers. Or so I was assured by my parents at 5 years old. It made so much sense! My grandpapa had his very own workshop in the basement that I was rarely allowed in, not because it was dangerous, but because it wouldn’t be fair to the other kids if I saw all the toys. His material of choice was cedar wood. My grandparents’ house always smelled of fresh raw cedar. He definitely looked nothing like an elf, though I had never actually seen one. His belly protruded (with beer not milk, I came to learn) and with his hair white as snow, I knew that my grandfather couldn’t be the Santa Claus but there had to be some association.

That Christmas, all my aunts, uncles, cousins and my grandparents gathered around the tree to open presents. When it was finally my turn, I was given a present as large as I was and was wrapped the best a present that shape could have been. I tore off the wrapping as fast as an excited child could and there it was: a wooden pony. A gaping grin filled with pure joy and awe took over my face. I looked at my grandpapa and he was looking at me radiating happiness and love. I jumped into his arms knowing that he built it and as the lingering smell of sweet cedar from his overalls took over, he whispers to me: “My boss, Santa, thought you’d like it.”

Now, I’m 24, and slowly starting to lose faith in the existence of Santa Claus. However, whenever I smell the luscious scent of cedar or walk by my wooden horsey that I keep stored away in the back room for my (hopefully) future children, I remember my grandpapa. I remember that he taught me to believe in my own thoughts and ideas even if others didn’t. He taught me to never stop imagining and using my mind for creativity and love. Santa was definitely lucky to have my grandpapa spread the Christmas spirit.

Montreal, QC/Xalapa, Mexico

I spent two months in Xalapa, Mexico, a mountain town in Veracruz state that doesn’t get a lot of tourists. There was constantly a smell in the air that, even though I had smelt it before on occasion, up until this point it had never been a constant smell so I never gave it much thought. Finally I realised that it was the smell of roasting coffee beans and it was always in the air because we were in the mountains of Mexico where coffee was grown and produced. To this day -even though this trip was over 10 years ago -any time I go past a coffee shop that is roasting coffee beans, the moment that smell hits my nose, I’m instantly transported back to Xalapa.

Montreal, QC

When I graduated high school in Vancouver, my first love gave me a vintage silver compact mirror. It was engraved with a relief reminiscent of the Belle Époque, and closed with a delicious click.

He said when he came across it, he instantly saw me in it, and as I popped open the curlicued top, I saw the way I wanted to be seen –Old World, romantic, dramatic, beautiful – but never felt I could be. I carried the compact with me everywhere, long after we went our separate ways, not as a token of thoughtful love, but as a talisman of sorts against my self doubts.

In the summer of 2012, I carried it across the ocean to Italy. A pragmatic traveler, I left all my other valuables behind save this one.

At 5am, I was bent over the river Arno, washing the charcoal of a fire from my hands. The sun was tingeing the sky aperol, the bank soft, the river marbled with light; I paused, swirling my hands in the water. This was Old World, romantic, dramatic, beautiful. It was a self-indulgent out-of-body moment that embarrassed me quickly. My friends called from the street. I straightened, swinging my purse around. Something softly splashed in the water. I hurried to catch them.

We were halfway across the city when I discovered it was missing. I fell behind, I began to cry; I had dropped my prized possession in the river. I had heard it splash, I had assumed it was nothing, I could have checked, but wine-hazed and sleep deprived I had ignored it.

But I often think of it. Stuck in the riverbed, there is an engraved silver circle catching the silt-filtered sun. Some long-forgotten woman’s mirror, rebought as a first love’s gift from a world away, waiting to be found in the Arno. There is something about it that is Old World, romantic, dramatic. Beautiful.