Books of Closure

I have a collection of books that are very special to me. They live on my bookshelf grouped together next to the photo albums. You know, the thick heavy books that hold physical, printed images of loved ones and distance places? (Some of you might not know what these are.)

This collection of books varies in size. No two are the same, yet they all mark the end of a period of my life. In my head, my history is divided into parts represented by each book. They map out locations and store friendships—some lost, some remain.

These books are not my journals capturing my innermost thoughts from year to year. They were gifted to me between cities, countries and oceans. Each page is a message of parting ways, of luck, of advice or of hope, broken up between snippets of happy memories and smiling faces staring back at me.

Although a lot of them don't realise it, their collection of words, small and large, meant a lot to me (and still do). Sitting on airplanes, carefully turning each page made the closure real. A complete amalgamation of happiness and heartache.

Now and then, nostalgia overwhelms me, and I take a trip back in time. I wonder what happened to some friendships. Each time I open one of these books, I'm grateful for the relationships that are still around. I don't think handmade books like these are made very often since the days of Facebook—which make mine even more special to me.

I'd like to send heartfelt thanks to the editor-in-chief for capturing, curating and publishing one of these books back in 2003. Look at what you're publishing now!

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