I'm visiting Krakow for a few days. Haven't been back here since Steemfest 3, back in 2018, and I'm excited to see what comes back from that lovely week. Already the other night, I visited a local street food market that I remember visiting while at the fest. Memories of all sorts of people who've since disappeared from the 'chain.
Anyway. I'll probably write a post about that at some point, but for now, I was just noticing...
My dear little nightie.
I realized I reached for it impulsively while packing. I figured it's a bit warm for Bucharest, which is already seeing 30C, but might work in this cold-ass Poland. Putting it on the other night, it occurred to me that's the same nightie I had with me then. The first time I was here. And it struck me how that was almost seven years ago now.
I'd bought it the year before. I remember because I bought it to celebrate passing the theoretical part of my driving exam. I loved the design instantly, it was very me and I used to think it was very chic. It's over 8 years old now.
Funny. I could've sworn it wasn't older than three. Four, maybe. How did that happen? Jokingly, maybe I should buy new PJs. Feel a little embarrassed now at having packed my old clothes thinking they were still reasonably new. Because you want to, don't you. You don't take any old T-shirt with stains and whatnot on when you go on holiday, do you?
But then, think to myself, why not? I've always thought this is how clothes are supposed to work. You find a few good ones you like wearing and keep returning to them as long as you possibly can. The same as with people, really.
In my country, we have a saying that you renew yourself when you buy yourself clothes. It's one of those oddly prescient sayings, because while it might not have been the case when they first started saying it, now we've arrived at a place where people's only hope of renewing themselves seems to come from the things they buy, the clothes they wear.
I realized, mulling over this passage of time a bit that I love stuff like my nightie - old stuff - because they're my only ties to past selves. The girl who came to Krakow, a shy 19-year-old metalhead, is still here, somewhere, but faded and altered. So much has shifted. So much is now so far from who she was. And I'm glad. Not because I didn't like her, but because I understand that's what we're supposed to do as we're going through life. Renewal. This nightgown's accompanied me to lots of hotels, different countries, and in spite of them all and all the washes and all the wear, it somehow still hangs on.
See, the problem with renewing yourself through things is you can take off clothes. Discard wares. And find, after you do, when you're bare, you're still the same old self you were uncomfortable with.
Besides, part of the satisfaction in seeing how much you've changed is having someone or something there who knew you. Who witnessed the miracle alongside you.
New clothes don't know. They don't remember. And already, I'm struggling with remembering so much, why invite more oblivion into my life?
You rock, old nightie.
