First published in the Daily Maverick 168 weekly newspaper.

The collection of six tapes fits on to one USB drive that can easily be plugged into my laptop and watched over and over again. If it had not been for this, the only recollection my family and I would have had was that we once watched these tapes and they would forever occupy space in the shelves of our lives, collecting dust because no one watches VHS tapes any more.

I spent the rest of the day scanning through each video: weddings; daily life documentaries; memorable moments of my brother trying his utmost to blow on a saxophone that was much larger than him (and smiling at how he is now a professional musician and beautiful sax player).

There were harsher reminders too, like looking at my own younger image, always pensive or depressed or eyes filled with plans for future rebellion. There are few shots of me performing or laughing. Even as a tiny bridesmaid, my face was filled with worry and anxiety. As an adult, it now translates as me seeming unapproachable and intimidating. But watching those videos kind of vindicated a part of me. They reminded me that something residual from my childhood still exists and in a way it was cathartic.

It’s the first year that I couldn’t expect that phone call from my dad (usually the day after my birthday) to wish me. But watching those videos made me feel like I shared the day with him anyway, even though one of the first comments I heard from him behind the camera was: “Get out of the way. You’re stupid. You will always be remembered as the stupid one of this family.” After years of terrible report cards because of this insult and subsequent insecurity, I can finally find the comment funny. Especially because before he died his last words to me was that I was, in fact, the most intelligent of his children. It’s untrue, but it means a lot.

Just two weeks before I received this USB drive of memories, I collected photos from my phone and a few that were uploaded on our computer: pictures of our son; ones of friends; photos of our wedding. After five years, we still had not printed a single photo of our own wedding.

When we used to take pictures with a snap-and-click, we had to develop them or else those memories were lost forever. Now, we take for granted that they will remain saved on our phones until the memories, ironically, are full and we need to delete them. Or, in better instances, they’re floating around in a cloud somewhere and we will always have them but also not have them.

When I changed my phone, I lost a bunch of photos: the first photo I took of my wife and my son; the first time my family met him; his naming ceremony; photos of my dad. All gone.

At first I was blasé. We’ve become so indifferent and used to the digital world deleting things from our lives. But then, I felt a pang, a hunger to hang on to something. I didn’t want another misplaced memory so I used an online service and uploaded more than 200 photos and had them all printed.

They’re not in photo albums yet, I don’t know if they make those any more. I purchased a large frame to make a collage of pictures, which, let’s face it, I will probably never find the time to do. But I have these memories now. Materially. I can look at them, watch them and hang on to them and they will always remain physical reminders to save my memories on something more than a hard drive. DM168

This story first appeared in our weekly Daily Maverick 168 newspaper which is available for free to Pick n Pay Smart Shoppers at these Pick n Pay stores.