It is called memory.I visit my own museum every day. Everyone visits their own personal museums every day, consciously or unconsciously.
When I visit, I see my first bicycle that my maternal uncle bought me when I was in first grade. I see our first cassette player that my father brought one day along with a couple of my favorite cassettes. I see the foldable iron bed which I slept in and shared my dreams with when I was in junior secondary school. I see the broken radio (which was broken by me, by the way) that I used to listen before sleeping every night when I was in college. I see so many other things that bring back happy memories.
Yes, happy memories. I try to keep only those items in my personal museum that has some association with happiness. Well, to be honest, most of the items.
I realized many years back that it is us who have the ability to choose the items for our own museums, not our friends and family, not our jobs, even not our situations and circumstances.
I have a friend who chose only her broken and lost items for her museum. One of my other friends has kept various price tags of his gadgets in his museum. I even know one who just has only one item in his museum. That’s right, just one single item.
I wish I could help them picking up some good stuff for their museums.