Today, while sneaking back to my old house to spend the weekend with my little sibling, I dug out an old album buried at the bottom of a tattered suitcase that’s followed me from South to North.

The last time I flipped through it was over a year ago, just before I headed South to start everything over. When I was picking what to pack into that suitcase, I didn’t have many options. Back then, I wanted to leave all the old stuff behind—the unhappy bits stuck in Hà Nội—and only take what mattered most, the things I’d want to look at every day. That album was the last thing I found, tucked away in a pile of book boxes I’d only opened once.

I was caught off guard by the girl in those photos. Me, over ten years ago. Seeing her beaming, flashing a V-sign with her hand, hopping around in goofy poses, carefree in the dorkiest outfits imaginable, I wondered where she got all that energy, that confidence. What a contrast to the chubby me now—my smile’s a bit shyer, my movements more reserved. Back then, it was like the world didn’t matter; all I knew was I had everything in my grasp. I thought tomorrow I’d be some famous director, no question.

But after hanging out with my two siblings, reading their Tarot cards, eating our favorite foods, I came back and pored over each photo, picking up scraps of memory. There’s Dad, Mom, H., and my high school besties. One shot’s of my childhood friend at four or five, round as a ball with a white rose bow pinned in her hair—adorable beyond words. Another’s the first time our family went on a trip together; we still haven’t had a second. There’s the goodbye when that friend moved away with her family. Then the graduation pics—white áo dài dotted with blazing red phượng flowers under the May summer sun. And my first trip with my college best friend.

And there’s a photo of Grandpa. He’s smiling, so gentle, with speckles of gray in his hair.

The other day, I listened to a Ted Talk where some writer—who’d spent over a year homeless—said that the older you get, the harder it hits when you face losing loved ones. Flipping through these photos, that line came back to me, and at night, I hugged the album tight.

This is my most precious treasure. It’s not much, really.

Every morning, that treasure’s what gets me out of bed, pushes me to work, and steadies me against the fear of being left behind, the pressure of studying when age works against focus and memory, and a heap of worries—named or nameless.

And then I feel so lucky to have this, my most valuable possession, to carry in my luggage on every long journey through life.