5th Aug 2019

What Once Was

I move out of the country a few weeks from when I’m writing this. Not just the country, but the whole continent. This big move means a lot–nerves, excitement, goodbyes, some cries, and packing. At this point in time, I’ve recently moved out of one of my favourite places ever; where I chose to go to university and the place I’ve come to call home–Brighton. It broke my heart to leave the seaside city and all my friends there, even if I do know I’ll be back in a year.

Coming to live back in my family home–whether that’s for a weekend or a month–has always been a little weird since I moved out; my room doesn’t feel like my own, I don’t know where to find all the kitchen utensils and I still don’t know the short-cut from the train station. (My family moved to a new town the same summer I moved to Brighton.)

Since being home this time, though, I’ve been sorting through literally everything I own. I’ve sent bags and bags to charity shops, given things away to friends, attempted to sell whatever was in good condition, and binned or recycled whatever was beyond repair. In doing this, I got to relive my teenage years to an extent.

First went the books. Most to the charity shop, but two to my memory box: ‘Paper Towns’ and ‘The Perks of Being a Wallflower’. ‘Paper Towns’ was my favourite John Green book and actually inspired me to write one of my first pieces of short fiction. ‘The Perks of Being a Wallflower’ or ‘Perks’, as I used to call it, was my absolute favourite book and became one of my favourite films too. There are certain books and films that came into my life at the exact time that I’ve needed them and ‘Perks’ was one of them. As an anxious fourteen year-old who seemed unable to do much else than hyper-fixate on music and fiction, it was perfect for me. I became obsessed with David Bowie and The Smiths–I still listen to both now–and started journaling as a way to process everything going on. I loved it so much that I used to know the entire ‘living room routine’ and would dance around my kitchen when I got home from school. I haven’t watched or read it in years, partly because I know it’s unlikely to have the same impact on me, but I always find myself getting defensive over it when people make fun of it–it meant a lot to me for a long time.

Dumped in the charity bag with them were a few clothing items too. Smart-casual sixth form clothes I hadn’t worn since those awful exams, tops I now thought were ugly, and a few things I wished I could still squeeze into. I debated adding some other items to the pile, like a sweatshirt reading ‘DON’T WORRY BE HAPPY’ on it, but convince myself that “I will find some opportunity to wear it! It’s too cute to get rid of”.

*Me at Reading Festival, August 2016. Taken by a friend.*

As I do all this sorting, I am accompanied by one of two playlists. I’m either singing along to tacky pop and outdated indie from ‘FEEL 14 AGAIN’ or trying to resist from slipping into my Docs, Swim Deep tee, and dungarees as I dance around to ‘quirky gorl’. Both playlists are time capsules for myself; the first holds all the songs I loved when I was a young teen–obnoxious, annoying, and one of those girls that sat outside Radio 1 trying to meet band members every weekend. The second is ironically titled, alluding to my old Tumblr URL and post-GCSE Yazz being the embodiment of “I’m not like other girls”. Listening to Pink Floyd and Tame Impala didn’t make me anywhere near as interesting or unique as I thought it did.

As I clear shelves, rummage through boxes, and finally empty the drawers I’ve stuffed-with-stuff, I come across years’ worth of cinema tickets. Some were shoved away, others had been pinned up on my wall and were now discoloured–my ‘Nightcrawler’ ticket so faded it just looked plain pink. Going through them made me realize how long and how much I loved–and still love–film. I always thought I got into it later on in life, but I suppose my questionable DVD collection and array of old paper tickets suggest otherwise. It’s comforting.

*Hinds at O2 Forum, Kentish Town, December 2016. Taken by me.*

The whole process of sorting meant rediscovering bits of myself I’d put into boxes and books. The return of disposable/35mm cameras means I captured most of my teenage years on film. Throughout years 12 and 13, I was always armed with a red and yellow Kodak; I have evidence of my first house parties, festivals, and the almost-weekly gigs I spent my money on. I found a lot of myself in journals and scrapbooks too; sad and sulky entries from times I felt I’d been wronged–I’m sure those bad moods were justified at the time, but now they’re just funny... There is some warmth in them though; I see the same friends proving themselves to be the best–handwritten notes, gift tags, and paragraph-filled birthday cards all offer evidence.

*Hong Kong, September 2019. Taken by me.*

I’ve always been a nostalgic person, and (over)emotional too. I–happy and sad–cry all the time, (I blocked a tear duct once!) and I hold onto everyone and everything more than I probably should. I find myself clinging onto what once was. Sometimes I wish days away, comparing them to some sugar-coated memory. I understand that naturally, we tend to remember the best bits–and if really bad then those bits, too–but I, personally, probably dwell on it all to an unhealthy extent. I’m not going to punish myself for this, but I think it’s important to be conscious of it. I need to get better at being here–now. Maybe a move will help me.

I wrote something in my journal before I moved away. It’s about me moving away from Brighton - where I was at university - and my hometown to come on my year abroad in Hong Kong. Before I moved over here I had to sort through literally everything I owned - clothes, books, photos, those drawers you stuff with the things you have no place for… This then caused me to do a lot of reminiscing and thinking about the past, but also a fair amount of self reflecting. In the piece I talk about how I feel when I return home and my flaw of constantly holding on to what once was.

By Yazz James