If clothes could tell stories, what would you remember?
Z & X, donned in the same Bali-printed tourist T-shirt.
The same one which X would go, “Baleeeee…. I want wear Baleeee.” We bought this in Ubud market. It rained and there was a blackout. We made do with what we could buy in the semi-darkness. The boys always loved Bali for the relaxed idleness, the sun and the sights.
As I packed away the clothes which the boys had outgrown of, I felt pangs of sadness. It would not make sense to keep them because these clothes would yellow over time. Yet, when I looked at them, they were stories on their own.
There was a T-shirt when Z wore on his 3rd birthday, the pair of shoes he wore when he first joined preschool, the romper he wore for his full month party. There was also that soft Pumpkin Patch romper which I liked to put over X when I was on maternity leave. It was his going-out romper where he traversed Bishan, Orchard, Toa Payoh, Yishun and even the nearby neighbourhood where I did my grocery shopping. Every clothing article was a piece of memory.
How I wish I could keep everything.