The one thing in your room that says the most about who you are.

“My mom gave me these headphones when I was ten. The pads have turned yellow. I’ve had them repaired three times. New ones sound better — but every time I try them, I switch back within fifteen minutes. They taught me that some things aren’t kept because they work well. They’re kept because we’ve walked a long way together.”

“My dad gave me this on my seventh birthday. I read it again at eleven, then at fifteen. Each time I cry at different pages. I’m seventeen now, applying to Yale. It’s still the same book. Somehow, I’m not the same reader. That’s the part I love the most.”

“My mom bought this for herself in 2010. She was twenty. She used it every day for years. When I turned fourteen she gave it to me. Her playlists are still on it — Radiohead, Sigur Rós, Fiona Apple, some Korean folk. When I listen now, I feel like I know a version of her I never met.”

“My dadi made me this bracelet every year on my birthday. Red silk thread, one small glass bead. Five years in a row. She passed away last October. This one has stayed on my wrist ever since. In Chemistry class when my hand shakes, I turn it. Nobody sees. Nobody asks.”

“A monstera cutting my friend gave me before she moved to Berlin. It’s supposed to grow. Mine hasn’t grown in eight months — but hasn’t died either. I water it exactly on Sundays. It stays the same. I’ve decided that’s okay. Some things don’t need to grow to be alive.”