The Things We Choose to Keep

Of Fridges and First Loves

Photo by Elimende Inagella on Unsplash

There’s an old fridge my dad owns and has refused to replace or have repaired. He calls it his “first love,” because it was one of the first things he bought with his own money when he was about my age—fresh out of his father’s house and eager to build something of his own.

There were other “first loves” too: a Samsung DVD player, one of those old, big-ass Samsung TVs, and a large teddy bear named Rabbit (yeah, a teddy bear... named Rabbit). Many of those items have been sold, tossed, or broken beyond recall—but not the fridge.

That thing has survived every move, every economic downturn, and every “let’s just get a new one” suggestion. My dad says it reminds him of the good old days—how back then, he was the only one in his compound with a fridge, and neighbours would come to store their food, water, and fruits in it. And by some miracle (his words, not mine), one of those neighbours became my mom. He never quite says how they met, but every time I ask, he smiles hard and tries not to laugh. So, yes, I believe love chilled in that fridge.

I used to think it was funny—borderline ridiculous—that he’d keep something that now barely works. But the older I get, the more I understand. There’s a quiet kind of love in holding on to old things. In not discarding something simply because it’s not shiny or trending or functioning at 100%. Some things aren’t just "things." They're archives of memory. They hold history in their rust and stories in their worn-out hums.

We live in a world that encourages letting go—of things, of people, of feelings—as soon as they feel like they’re taking up too much space or no longer serving an obvious purpose. Minimalism is trending. “Declutter,” “delete,” “unsubscribe.” It’s as if we’re always being told that clean slates are the solution. But sometimes, what looks like clutter is actually where love lives. Sometimes, it’s okay to keep what still warms your heart even if it doesn’t cool your drinks.

There’s wisdom in knowing what to hold on to. And sometimes, refusing to let go isn’t an act of sentimentality—it’s an act of memory, an act of love.

So here’s to old fridges and the quiet, stubborn hearts that keep them.

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Writing this made me think about the odd little things I’ve kept over the years, and why. Perhaps you have something similar—a photo, a t-shirt, a playlist, or even a fridge. What does it remind you of?