In my cabinet, hidden under SAT prep books, award certificates and old sketchbooks, lies a pink and blue box. It’s made of glossy cardboard with waves on the lid. Despite its simple appearance, if I could save only one thing from my entire room, it would be that. 

No, it doesn’t hold my passport and social security number, nor does it contain any expensive pieces of jewelry. That box encapsulates memories and connections from the past ten years, all in the form of handwritten cards. 

Heart-shaped Valentine’s Day cards from third grade and beautifully decorated letters from my sweet sixteen sit in a haphazard stack, a few corners peeking out from under the lid. In the last few years, I’ve had to press down the top of the box with a dictionary to keep it from overflowing. 

I brought the box, empty at the time, with me when my family moved houses ten years ago. I saved it because it was a cute and convenient box to store trinkets, but it eventually became one of my most valued possessions.

Whenever I received a birthday card or thank you note, I faithfully stuffed it in there. At least once a year, when spring-cleaning frenzy takes over, I clean out my cabinet and read all the letters and cards stored up in the box so far. In fourth grade, it took me a couple of minutes. During my latest round of organizing, it took nearly an hour.

With each re-read of those cards, I feel so full of gratitude my heart could burst. To repay just a fraction of that love, I sit down with my assortment of pens and markers to design a card for each person, whether it be to show gratitude, honor their birthday or celebrate a holiday.

Whether it’s a “thank you” or “happy birthday” or “I love you,” I pour nearly an hour into each one. Depending on the person, I might fold paper flowers and glue them to the cover, layer on stickers or doodle their favorite animal or food. When I uncap my pen to write the letter itself, I let the words flow, sometimes cramming the card so full that the last word practically falls off the page. 

In the end, they’re only pieces of paper, but to me, they’re more valuable than any toy or prize. I refuse to let the emotions and shared moments reflected in these cards fade away. 

I will always make the time and space for handwritten cards, because they’re, well, written by hand. I can feel the indents that a pen left on the paper and see the places where a drawing was erased and replaced, conjuring up the memories associated with that person from running on a playground in third grade to sharing a cup of boba in 11th grade.

Soon, I’ll find a similar box, maybe also pink and blue. Eventually, there might be multiple stacked in a closet or tucked under a desk, each one filled with folded paper and ink. They’ll look like random boxes and pieces of paper to anyone else, but to me, they’ll always contain pieces of my heart.