Burning old memories

Staying at home meant I had more time to do stuff I normally wouldn’t have time for – like flipping through old family albums at my in-law’s place, and flipping through my hubby’s photos from his university days.

Then I found one picture of him in Cairo airport with a pose similar to a picture of mine taken in Leeds airport. I smiled, was quite pleased to note that even when we did not know of each other’s existence, fate had it that we had similar photos taken at the airport. I turned the picture over, curious to read any caption because I know my husband sometimes wrote stuff at the back of photos. What I read immediately wiped the smile away from my face.

Apparently, he had given the photo to his ex, but she had returned it – as I later found out - along with other photos, postcards and stuff. The discovery of that picture somehow prompted me to look for other photos with similar wordings. One thing led to another and I found out that he still kept postcards that he’d sent to her (which she obviously had returned to him) and several pictures of the two of them were kept separately from other albums.

Okay – normally I’m not an overly jealous person. I can’t get jealous easily – he’s an ustaz and is regularly consulted by so many women. Besides, he has always been honest and open with me about his previous relationships, which I didn’t question much because we’ve both agreed to let bygones be bygones and start anew. Thus, right before my wedding, I’d carefully looked through my files and sifted evidence of previous relationships, be it printed email or letters. No pictures of just-the-two-of-us were saved. I made up my mind that my wedding is a new beginning and I wanted to start it clean.

So, finding those pictures and evidence of my husband’s previous relationship – in the same drawer rack in which I keep my stuff – really stunned me.

Granted, nobody wants a person nobody else wanted. But noticing how he’d used the same words he used with me, addressing her with the same term of endearments, noticing how cute and innocent the other girl looked, and how happy he seemed standing or sitting closely next to her and reading his teases on the postcards and the lovey dovey messages at the back of the photos he sent to her – really upset me. It made me felt like I was second best, a substitute for the main player who had been unexpectedly injured in an important match.

Granted, he’s entitled to have his memories with his ex. After all, I have my own share of history too. It’s just that I wished he would not keep those offending stuff anywhere near my sight – and definitely not in the drawer right below mine. I know I can’t take away the memories, but wouldn’t he at least consider to keep them elsewhere so that I will never ever stumble upon them? I can understand if he kept stuff he'd received from her but I felt that it was really frustrating to note that he kept stuff he'd given to her which she had returned to him. Obviously it is a signal that to her, they were done, over, finished. Which made me wonder – why did he still keep them?

A day after my discovery, I was admitted to the hospital. Perhaps my distress worsen my already-not-so-good condition. Yes, I cried. Over some stupid photos and postcards. Don't ask me why, I just could not help myself. But I refrained myself from discussing them with him until he returned home for the CNY break.

I told him about what I’ve found and how my discovery pained me. I’ve put those stuff aside as I wanted to give them to him. I knew I could have secretly, quietly disposed of them but felt it wouldn’t be right for me to do so. They belonged to him, so only he had the right to decide what to do with them.

“Just throw them away,” he quietly instructed.

“No, I don’t want to do that. They belong to you. Throw them if you want to, but don’t ask me to do that.”

“Sayang, honestly I thought I’ve gotten rid of them. I’m sorry, but I must have overlooked these. I’ve burnt the rest before… Why don’t you burn these for me now?”

So, I finally did just that. And oh my – how good it felt to witness those offending photos and old postcards being slowly burnt. I know I will never be able to burn old memories, but at least watching the memorabilia being destroyed was kind of healing. Therapeutic almost.