The Things We Hold On To

The Things We Hold On To After Sana passed away, I found myself reflecting on why we attach so much meaning to material things. We spend our lives accumulating, curating, and cherishing possessions, yet in the end, we leave this world with nothing. Sana was the epitome of fashion, style, and coordination. She had a keen eye for beauty, always effortlessly putting together the perfect outfit. And yet, when she passed, she was bare. That stark contrast made me feel an overwhelming sense of detachment—suddenly, so many things felt insignificant. And yet, I cannot detach myself from Sana’s belongings. Her clothes, her makeup, her shoes—each one carries a story, a memory, a moment frozen in time. I use them, wear them, hold them close, because in doing so, I feel connected to her. They are not just objects; they are remnants of her presence, echoes of her essence. Today, as I sit here writing, I am wrapped in a blue jacket. Sana loved this jacket. She wore it the second time she was admitted to Rahway Hospital. I can still picture her in it, her arms wrapped around herself, her expression soft yet resilient. And now, as I wear it, I feel her presence woven into the fabric. I have learned to let go of many things, to detach from the mundane, but never from the pieces of Sana that remain with me. Because through them, she is still here. And in some way, she always will be.