A curation of oneself

Returning home is not just a return in the sentimental sense — to loved ones and the familiar ways of doing life. Returning home is, for me, also a return to the tangible remnants of an adolescence and young adulthood spent entirely consumed by a love of movies and literature.

It’s been just over a month since I moved back to South Africa from the UK. And, although I’m eager to begin exploring the cultural scenes in my home city, I’m most excited to be reunited with my beloved, though humble, physical media collections.

Physical media has, rightfully so, become somewhat of a buzzword in today’s conversations around the increasing digitisation of art. Although I’m not necessarily here to contribute to the wonderful odes to physical media, I do want to reflect on how these possessions can be a curation of ourselves to which we can frequently return.

Despite living abroad for three years, I never grew accustomed to being in a country that is a hub for global arts and culture.

There was novelty around every corner: the newest films on rotation at the local cinemas; public libraries boasting the latest books; popular theatre productions on tour. And, even by exhausting the entertainment available nearby, there were always the art exhibitions and touring international artists in cities just a train ride away.

There’s not much about that kind of lifestyle to complain about and there is certainly an importance in keeping up with the latest media making the rounds. Engaging with the works that are shaping contemporary cultural discourses allows us to form our own opinions and responses from a subjective point of view. On top of that, for me and many others, up-to-date cultural awareness and knowledge can even go so far as to be a form of self-fulfilment and community building.

However, the addictive rush of getting to be part of the hype over the shiniest new thing had gradually eaten away at my time spent rewatching and rereading familiar favourites.

The stories we encounter over the course of our lives become either a clouded speck of memory, an indispensable part of who we are, or something in between.

To intentionally collect the artefacts of these points in our lives is to memorialise the milestones and seeming frivolities that punctuate our time as humans. A return is, therefore, not inherently a regression but more of a reconnection — an honouring of past selves and joys we wouldn’t be able to revisit otherwise.

So, I’d like to make the conscious decision to dedicate more time to returning to those stories — not just the ones I know like the back of my hand but also the ones I have no concrete recollection of aside from the soft nostalgia that’s grown for them over time.

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