Pieces Of Me
Remember the classic question, “What items would you take if your house were on fire?” Yeah, that one. I’ve always flopped spectacularly at it. Maybe it would be easier if I just rattled off the usual: my family, friends, food, water, and clothes. Functional? Yes. Memorable? Absolutely not.
I want to be the kind of person who says something cool like “my key chain from my first overseas trip” or “a stuffed animal from second grade.” But alas, when faced with hypothetical flames, my brain defaults to survival mode.
So I’m going to cheat a little and reframe the question. Instead of imagining what I’d rescue from a flaming house, I’m going to share a few objects that I have a personal connection to. Hopefully, they’re a step up from my previous disaster list (though, let’s be honest, that’s a low bar to clear).
My Uni-Ball Jetstream RT Retractable Ballpoint Pen: Yes, I know how this sounds. But the life of an IB student would be incomplete without a ballpoint pen. And if you’re left-handed, then this is truly magical (fast-drying ink isn’t just a luxury; it's survival). I own a five-pack, but I keep going back to one pen. It’s not the fanciest or the flashiest, but it’s familiar. Reliable. And in a world of chaos and deadlines, familiarity is gold.
My “Big Moment” Earrings: These aren’t everyday earrings, and they’re not just there to match an outfit. These are special event earrings. I wear them during presentations, before big tests, and on long flights. Basically, every time life feels like throwing a pop quiz at my confidence. They don’t magically make me braver, but they remind me of the courage that’s already in me. The sparkle? That’s just a bonus.
Dhal Bukhara: In 2022, my father, brother, and I traveled to India and stumbled upon a bowl of Dhal Bukhara at the legendary restaurant Bukhara in New Delhi. It was rich, smoky, and unforgettable, with the kind of flavor that settles into your memory. But the story of this remarkable dhal didn’t end in that restaurant. When we returned home to the U.S., my father became obsessed with recreating it. After many failed experiments and late-night spice debates, he cracked the code. Now every time he makes Dhal Bukhara, it’s more than just a dinner. It’s a way of reliving that journey, of remembering New Delhi and the laughter that we shared. It’s a reminder that food can transport us to our fondest memories. And honestly, after all that obsessing and spice-adjusting, I think his version is better than the original (sorry Bukhara).
Barry’s Training Clicker: Now we are going to start getting into my love of animals and nature, and there’s no better object than Barry’s clicker to describe this. His clicker might just look like a boring little plastic noisemaker, but to us, it’s a communication device. It’s how we’ve learned to understand each other without saying a word. Each click marks a tiny victory: a new trick learned, a treat awarded, a flash of understanding in his eyes. This clicker has become more than a training device; it’s a symbol of patience and love, built through small moments. It reminds me that connection doesn’t always need language, but intention and love.
My Shrimp Ecosphere: Quick jump into the time machine because we’re going back to my eight-year-old self. When I turned eight, my parents gave me what might be the weirdest and most wonderful beginner pet: a shrimp ecosphere. Picture a tiny, sealed glass world with a few shrimp floating around. My role in taking care of them? Putting the ecosphere near the sunlight so that algae could grow. That was it. Yet somehow, I was obsessed. I checked on them every day. They never interacted with me, but I felt connected to them anyway. That little sphere taught me that wonder doesn’t have to be loud or flashy. Sometimes, it’s quiet, small, and floating.
So there you have it: my fire-list turned feelings-list. Maybe it’s not the most practical collection, but each of these objects holds a little piece of me. And in the end, isn’t that what matters most?
