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"Have you cleared out the rest of that wardrobe yet?"

I sighed and tucked another piece of hair behind my ear as I stared dejectedly at the mysterious mountain of crumpled clothes, odd socks, broken toys and year old newsletters shoved roughly into the corner of my mahogany closet. The misshapen heap stared me down with a grin like a Cheshire cat as it sized up my willingness to delve into its depths and finally sort through which pieces of my life I treasured enough to keep.

"Come on! The trailer will be gone soon!"

My mother's voice again bounced up the stairwell and I clenched my jaw – 'now or never' I supposed. The top layer was easy. There wasn't a second thought to it as I threw stained singlets and socks riddled with holes into the 'rubbish pile', only the occasional faded shirt being promoted to the 'Vinnies' section of the room.

It wasn't long though before I found my fingers curling around the edges of items less easily categorised. A worn baseball cap that had seen many a game as it was given, snatched and stolen between each of my three older brothers before finally finding its way to rest atop my own chocolaty ringlets for my seventh birthday. It was the best present I remember getting and I paraded it around everywhere, under the impression that it was the perfect accessory even with my lovely pink fairy dresses. Needless to say it was squeezed into a box aptly labelled "Memories".

It was soon joined by tattered photographs of memories all but forgotten, with us kids half covered in mud after a day up at Gloucester Falls and big cheesy grins beaming out our pride at catching the biggest, baddest eel up there as it hung gracelessly in our nets. Tucked behind them was the worn out deck of cards we would use to play Irish poker up there and I giggled at the memories of how we were only allowed one thumb to hold the card to our foreheads and how we would spend a good half hour laughing at how silly we looked before the game could begin.

Another few useless school notes and letters were scrunched and tossed into the garbage bag before I found another true prize. I'm sure the ecstatic grin I could feel stretching across my face was a good indicator at the instant joy I felt at finding the pair of threadbare red converses I could've sworn Mum threw out eons ago.

My fingers traced the many questionable muddy smears across their sides and the frayed edges of the laces that could only be attained through a lot of love and a lot of wear. They had literally travelled miles with me across half the continents in my family's impulsive six-month venture across the globe when I was barely eleven years old and I could remember every stain and every tear that had befallen its previously bright scarlet body.

They were so uncomfortable to begin with. It was only thanks to the exotic aromas of stall-cooked chickens and the dazzling array of gold bracelets and diamond rings that lined every experience I had in Bangkok that I managed to ignore the discomfort until walking the traffic-filled streets had them worn to the shape of my soles. We were inseparable after that. They were there on our first few chilly days in Rome and kept me up as I stumbled across the cobbled streets after the twelve hour flight, receiving their first few scuff marks as my tiny feet were trampled by the hordes of people squeezing through the Sistine Chapel.

A few countries later and they were still glued to my feet as we waltzed down Las Ramblas in Barcelona. Their vivid colour seemed to fit right in with the grinning puppeteers and sword-swallowers that would put on impressive displays just for a euro or two, and not even the cigarette ends that left dark smears across the soles of my shoes could burn away the sheer joy they bought the crowd. Even in Canada where I got to lift my head and howl with the wolves at Golden they seemed to fit in, holding me up despite the half-detached heel on the left side.

By the time we were in Hawaii six months after those first few uncomfortable moments in Thailand they were just about in pieces as we walked down Waikiki Beach at sunset. I can still hear Mum insisting that I should just buy a cheap pair of sandals while we were there and her swearing to throw them out the minute we touched down again in Sydney. I couldn't do that though. My converses deserved a better send off than to just be tossed aside in some motel room and forgotten, so they stayed firmly on my feet even though the holes let the sand come trickling in between my toes and barely stopped the sting of a hot pavement.

I caressed their delicate, memory-stained sides as those experiences many years ago came flooding back. A warm smile touched my lips as I carefully placed them in the box beside the photographs and baseball-cap, the now two-sizes too small converses fitting snugly into the space like a puzzle piece into my life.

Fishing a sharpie from my pocket, I leaned over and scribbled out the word 'Memories' on the box and underneath wrote in capital letters: 'Treasures'.

Description
"Have you cleared out the rest of that wardrobe yet?"

I sighed and tucked another piece of hair behind my ear as I stared dejectedly at the mysterious mountain of crumpled clothes, odd socks, broken toys and year old newsletters shoved roughly into the corner of my mahogany closet. The misshapen heap stared me down with a grin like a Cheshire cat as it sized up my willingness to delve into its depths and finally sort through which pieces of my life I treasured enough to keep.

"Come on! The trailer will be gone soon!"

My mother's voice again bounced up the stairwell and I clenched my jaw – 'now or never' I supposed. The top layer was easy. There wasn't a second thought to it as I threw stained singlets and socks riddled with holes into the 'rubbish pile', only the occasional faded shirt being promoted to the 'Vinnies' section of the room.

It wasn't long though before I found my fingers curling around the edges of items less easily categorised. A worn baseball cap that had seen many a game as it was given, snatched and stolen between each of my three older brothers before finally finding its way to rest atop my own chocolaty ringlets for my seventh birthday. It was the best present I remember getting and I paraded it around everywhere, under the impression that it was the perfect accessory even with my lovely pink fairy dresses. Needless to say it was squeezed into a box aptly labelled "Memories".

It was soon joined by tattered photographs of memories all but forgotten, with us kids half covered in mud after a day up at Gloucester Falls and big cheesy grins beaming out our pride at catching the biggest, baddest eel up there as it hung gracelessly in our nets. Tucked behind them was the worn out deck of cards we would use to play Irish poker up there and I giggled at the memories of how we were only allowed one thumb to hold the card to our foreheads and how we would spend a good half hour laughing at how silly we looked before the game could begin.

Another few useless school notes and letters were scrunched and tossed into the garbage bag before I found another true prize. I'm sure the ecstatic grin I could feel stretching across my face was a good indicator at the instant joy I felt at finding the pair of threadbare red converses I could've sworn Mum threw out eons ago.

My fingers traced the many questionable muddy smears across their sides and the frayed edges of the laces that could only be attained through a lot of love and a lot of wear. They had literally travelled miles with me across half the continents in my family's impulsive six-month venture across the globe when I was barely eleven years old and I could remember every stain and every tear that had befallen its previously bright scarlet body.

They were so uncomfortable to begin with. It was only thanks to the exotic aromas of stall-cooked chickens and the dazzling array of gold bracelets and diamond rings that lined every experience I had in Bangkok that I managed to ignore the discomfort until walking the traffic-filled streets had them worn to the shape of my soles. We were inseparable after that. They were there on our first few chilly days in Rome and kept me up as I stumbled across the cobbled streets after the twelve hour flight, receiving their first few scuff marks as my tiny feet were trampled by the hordes of people squeezing through the Sistine Chapel.

A few countries later and they were still glued to my feet as we waltzed down Las Ramblas in Barcelona. Their vivid colour seemed to fit right in with the grinning puppeteers and sword-swallowers that would put on impressive displays just for a euro or two, and not even the cigarette ends that left dark smears across the soles of my shoes could burn away the sheer joy they bought the crowd. Even in Canada where I got to lift my head and howl with the wolves at Golden they seemed to fit in, holding me up despite the half-detached heel on the left side.

By the time we were in Hawaii six months after those first few uncomfortable moments in Thailand they were just about in pieces as we walked down Waikiki Beach at sunset. I can still hear Mum insisting that I should just buy a cheap pair of sandals while we were there and her swearing to throw them out the minute we touched down again in Sydney. I couldn't do that though. My converses deserved a better send off than to just be tossed aside in some motel room and forgotten, so they stayed firmly on my feet even though the holes let the sand come trickling in between my toes and barely stopped the sting of a hot pavement.

I caressed their delicate, memory-stained sides as those experiences many years ago came flooding back. A warm smile touched my lips as I carefully placed them in the box beside the photographs and baseball-cap, the now two-sizes too small converses fitting snugly into the space like a puzzle piece into my life.

Fishing a sharpie from my pocket, I leaned over and scribbled out the word 'Memories' on the box and underneath wrote in capital letters: 'Treasures'.