An essay on souvenirs by Anushka Bhatt

 Anushka Bhatt

Some people hold onto souvenirs from their travels or tuck childhood toys away in forgotten corners, but my most treasured possessions are the ones that accompany me daily: my AirPods, Stanley Cup, and digital camera. Each of them tells a part of my story, holding within them emotions, experiences, and memories that I refuse to let fade. My Stanley Cup is more than just a water bottle; it is my constant source of comfort, always within arm’s reach, like an extension of myself. If you spot me in the hallway, you’ll surely see it tucked under my arm or resting on my desk, its familiar weight grounding me. The once-sleek surface now bears the marks of time: tiny dents and scratches that map out the chaotic moments when it tumbled from my grasp; knocked over mid-conversation, bounced across the soccer field, or sent flying from my car’s cup holder during a sharp turn. Those imperfections, though, make it even more mine. When I gaze at those marks, I don’t just see damage; I see late-night study sessions where I absentmindedly tapped the cup against my desk, half-asleep but resolute. I see long drives with my older siblings, my Stanley wedged between us, splattered with remnants of iced coffee we’d picked up along the way. It’s not merely a cup; it’s a part of me, a constant companion through every chapter of my life.

Then, there’s my digital camera. My personal time capsule. Its edges are scratched, and a small crack slashes across the screen from the time I fumbled with it while chasing the perfect sunset. Yet, despite the wear, it continues to perform its most important task: freezing time, capturing the laughter of friends, the quiet glow of golden hour, and the raw beauty of candid moments. I remember the first time I held it, my fingers fumbling over the buttons, the unfamiliar weight of something that would soon become an extension of me. Since then, it has accompanied me to concerts where I lost my voice singing along, birthdays where laughter was smeared with cake, and quiet nights when the moonlight cast a perfect glow on my windowsill. When I flip through the photos, I don’t simply see images, I feel them. I hear the music, the laughter, the unspoken connections woven into every frame. My camera doesn’t just document my life; it preserves the fleeting emotions, the ones I never want to lose.

But if disaster struck, if a fire or flood forced me to choose just one thing...I wouldn’t hesitate. I’d reach for my AirPods. While my Stanley Cup may be my steady companion and my camera my emotional archive, music is what has truly shaped me. My AirPods are more than just earbuds; they are my lifeline to the songs that have anchored me through every season of my life. Whether I’m drowning in stress, cruising with the window down, or lying in bed staring at the ceiling, music is always there, narrating my world. I’ve cried to the same songs that once made me feel invincible. Certain melodies take me back to specific moments—one verse reminding me of a long-forgotten summer night, a chord progression pulling me into memories of late-night study sessions or solitary walks in the dark.

Music has saved me in ways I can’t fully articulate. There’s something about how a song can speak for me when I can’t find the words, how it holds emotions I didn’t even realize I needed to feel. When I slip my AirPods in, the rest of the world disappears, it’s just me and the music, a space where I don’t have to explain myself. My playlist is my diary, each song a reflection of who I am and who I’ve been. While my Stanley Cup and digital camera offer tangible comfort, music is my emotional anchor—the thing that keeps me grounded when everything else feels overwhelming. It has been with me through every high and low, every moment when I felt like I had nowhere else to turn. And that’s why, in a moment of panic, I would instinctively reach for that small white case, knowing that inside it is a soundtrack that means everything to me.