There was a time when everyday felt like walking beneath a grey sky. I lost my grandfather right before I entered college, and it was the first time I had ever experienced real grief. The black Nike windbreaker I wore almost every day from high school is something I don’t wear much anymore. But when I do, all the memories come back. The sadness, the confusion, and those strange, mixed feelings about a time I didn’t really understand but had to get through anyway.

Clothing might seem like nothing more than fabric, but the memories and emotions they hold transform them into something more. They hold our reasons: why we wear them, who we wear them for, when, and where. They cling to us like our heaviest emotions. Sometimes we don’t realize how much meaning we’ve placed into what we wear until one item starts to feel heavier than it should. It took me a while to realize I was in the process of letting my grandfather go. Some days I’d cry without warning, and on others, it felt like he had never even been part of my life. That back-and-forth was hard to sit with. I didn’t really have the words for what I was feeling, but I had that jacket. It quietly held everything, even the things I hadn’t figured out yet.

I often struggle to open up easily and come across as hard to read. Yet through my clothing I wear my heart, quite literally, on my sleeve. The first blazer I bought when I turned 20, hoping it would make me look more like an adult, the comfy shoes I begged my parents for in elementary school thinking they might help me catch up to my brother’s height, and the windbreaker I wiped my tears with, crying my eyes out in a taxi on the way to the funeral in pouring rain. Every piece brings me back to exactly how I felt in those moments, just as it was.

Wearing something new makes me feel like a different person. When I’m dressed in a new outfit from head to toe, I get this strange boost of confidence. Even ordering coffee feels easier.

Clothes are a visible, tangible version of myself that carries my emotions, memories, and stories. A few years ago, I folded that windbreaker and shoved it into the back of my closet, where I wouldn’t even see it. I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away, but I couldn’t wear it either. But recently, while organizing my closet, I took it out and hung it up again. Sometimes, I’ll even throw it on when I go to grab a package. I used to associate it only with my grandfather’s passing, but I’ve come to realize it was also the thing that shielded me from the rain that day, wiped my tears, and comforted me through it all.

Seeing it that way helped me let him go in my heart and feel less trapped by the emotions my clothes carried. Clothes are like time capsules for our memories and emotions, but how we interpret them is up to us. Our relationship with clothing and the meaning we attach to it can shift as we do. As we heal, change, and grow, the emotions tied to these pieces evolve too, just like they did with my windbreaker.

I bought a new white and red Adidas windbreaker, distinct from the old black one. Not because I couldn’t handle the emotions anymore or wanted to replace the past, but to hold a new kind of memory that belongs to who I am now, hoping it’ll carry its own story too.

Reach column writer Minkyoung Cha at musemediauw@gmail.com
Instagram @minkyoungcha

Reach photographer Ryan Leang at musemediauw@gmail.com
Instagram @rrwuna