Over the weekend it came to my attention that while moving I may have accidentally thrown out a couple of things that I DEFINITELY didn't mean to get rid of.
The first is a box of photographs, many of them pre-dating digital cameras; photos of my trip to Japan, all the photos from my teen years and some from my childhood. Upsetting, mostly because of the loss of such prime examples of how incredibly photogenic I am...this is a lie. Until the digital-era, where we discovered image control: the ability to delete incriminating photos before they could be viewed by the judging eyes of the woman in the photo developing booth. Until this time you had no way to tell whether that once in a lifetime photographic opportunity came out or whether you had wasted $8.99 on an entire film of overexposed, fuzzy nothing photos.
Most of the photos in the box are probably out of focus, taken in terrible light or depict me doing something that makes me look like I should have been Quasimodoed away from public view but for the few good pictures that I know are in there, the ones snapped at just the right moment at the crossing in Shibuya, from the top of Takeshita-Dori in Harajuku i'm a little distraught. Given, there are definitely a couple of photos in there that are better off never seeing the light of day but I would have liked to have been able to go through and digitalise the ones worth saving and dispose of the photographicevidence of the zipper sided jeans I wore in the early years of high school or the time I discovered what happens when you have the alcohol tolerance of a teaspoon and mix every spirit your 18 year old friends will buy you. I give you a tip, you end up scantily clad and vomiting in your friends garden. Not the hottest look going around.
The second is a notebook, the raw and as-yet untouched notes for a book that I was writing, chronicling my trip to India. It would be a travel book the likes of which had never been seen written in such an original and entertaining manner that I would be verily catapaulted to the top of the New York Times best seller list and be able to live out the rest of my days in comfortable fortune, writing from the villa in Tuscany that I would inevitably purchase with the royalties of that first incredible book.
But alas, it seems that the only audience that my masterpiece will entertain will be the rubbish at the Melbourne tip. I will try and rewrite it, using the chronicled photos (digital imagey goodness) from the 3 cameras taken on the trip and hope that I can find those moments and feelings again.
In short. Don't throw anything out. Ever. Unless you are a billion percent sure that it isn't something that will make you a millionare.