And is it ever filthy in here! There’s all these cobwebs and stacks of old boxes covered in ancient dust. Most of the boxes don’t even really belong to me, someone just left them here, and I haven’t had the time to get rid of them.

Sometimes, when I’m feeling brave, I decide I want to open a box. Mostly they are dark and full of shadows, but every once in a while, I find a glistening treasure.

One time, I found a box of old artwork from highschool. I was surprised and delighted to find a whole collection of beautiful art that I myself had created, yet had completely forgotten! On the back of one of my drawings there was a note from my Grade 9 art teacher: “Too safe – challenge yourself more”.

I recoiled at the message from my past as it sunk into my veins.. Was this perhaps the single greatest piece of advice ever given to me in all my life? And I mourned the fact that I had disregarded it as mere criticism when I should have latched onto it like a life raft and saved myself 20 years of wasted time.

And therein lies the crux of Truth. Should one ever stumble across it, will it be rightly recognized for what it is?..

In that same box, I discovered a shadow hiding deep in the bottom corner. There I found an envelope, heavy with the mental content of a lonely and desperate 11 year old. It was full of old pictures, notes passed in class, letters to my cousin overseas, and some curiously absurd memorabilia that, once upon a time, had brought me comfort. Now it brought nothing but pain.

Two of the items were gifts from boys – a dried flower and a pin in the shape of an ice cream. Another was the scrap of a Mr. Sub wrapper that I saved after a trip with some friends. They were the only friends I had, and once, they took me with them on a trip to the city. How sad it was, after everything that happened between us, that I had kept this literal piece of garbage – to remind me that however briefly, at least one person had shined their own fractured light in my direction.

When I lifted the envelope out, I noticed it was dripping. On a closer look I found it was leaking a rancid oil, of the blackest black. It had seeped out into the bottom of the box, coating the bottom of my pile of art. Most of the photos were now contaminated. I gazed sorely at the warped versions of myself.

It was deeply painful to realize just how distorted my view of myself was, at such a young age. All this pain, I knew now, was the result of lies. Lies I told myself, lies I accepted from others. But I had accepted it all as truth, because I didn’t know any better.

Afterwards, when I had collected my thoughts, and the shattered pieces of myself off the floor, I resolved to purge this false image of myself, and any need I still had to feel connected to this distorted narrative of who I thought I was. I put aside the artwork that hadn’t been damaged, and then I burned all the rest of the pictures, notes and memories in a steel drum in my backyard, in a ritual designed to let go of that part of my life. I learned from her many painful lessons, for which I am forever grateful. But it was time to let her go, and make room for something new…