Pearls

On a random Friday that I had requested off from work, I decided to finally take my pearl necklace to the jewellers to be fixed; after two long years of sitting in my jewellery box in a state of disrepair, some pearls loose. The same pearl necklace you had surprised me with that sunny afternoon after I had finished uni for the day. A sweet and tender gift. It was one of those things I’d wanted to do for so long that it seemed to fall somewhere just outside of my memory. Something about having it repaired reminded me of the Ship of Theseus paradox. 

At the consult, after exchanging pleasantries and confirming the jewellers suspicion of what was in the brown 12 x 12” paper bag that I was carrying as I walked in — a record — it was said that the pearls required restringing onto a new metal wire. I had refused a silk string because of my veganism, which I voiced. I’m sure it irked her and no doubt made me look pretentious, but hey, morals are morals. After all, you were the one who once said that I decidedly had none. 

Despite this ethical belief which I’ve upheld for almost half of my life, which one would consider a moral decision. Yes, morals are morals, they are not jewellery, they are not so easily altered on a whim of a Friday afternoon. And they are not, for that matter, like records, which can be bought. 

I left the store without the pearl necklace and a kind remark from the jeweller to enjoy my record, though she did not know what album it was. I hadn’t told her, just simply said that yes, it was a record, and yes, I probably shouldn’t of bought it; still carrying the guilt about buying them, which you had instilled in me. It was Talking Heads Remain in Light which I’d just found secondhand and bought because it reminds me of you. I appreciated her kindness but was unsure if I would enjoy it, grief is such a funny thing that way.

It was also said that the pearl necklace required a new clasp, so essentially the only things that remained of the original necklace were the freshwater pearls themselves. Would they be restrung in the exact same order they had originally been in? I forgot to ask. A difference only discernible to me, I had thought, but it still felt important no less. 

Not that I was able to tell when I did collect it. If we were to compare this necklace to that of Theseus’s theoretical ship, quite a lot of the original materials were missing. It was just the hull left. And if the pearls were not restrung as they originally had been, then essentially nothing was the same on that necklace. I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about this paradox, turning it over in my mind. What did replacing these parts mean to the necklace? What did they mean to me? It may well be that this paradox stayed in my mind, long after I picked the pearls up and began to wear them again, because it was a reflection of myself.

In the years since we met each other, and the year that we said goodbye, so many parts of myself have been changed, altered, and amended. Things have come and they have gone. I am no longer the person that you had first met, that I tried my best to stay as, because that was the person you had fallen in love with. I am also, no longer the same person which you had said goodbye to. If I am in any way like Theseus’s ship and I’ve ceased being what I once was, then when exactly did I become something new?

And while thinking about this, I wondered, was it still the same pearl necklace you had surprised me with all those years ago? Which you had put around my neck while we waited for the Craigieburn train at Melbourne Central Station? I no longer knew. In the end, I suppose it doesn’t matter. It still looks the same, I can still wear it. The sheer beauty of it still pleases me. It still feels nice around my neck. And even though it has changed so much, it will always remind me of you. Of your kindness and generosity. The way you loved to surprise me with things, when you could. So many things do, and will continue to, like the Talking Heads record.

I guess that’s life. Pearl necklaces may need repairs, but the pearls themselves remain the same as they were when they were pulled from the ocean; more or less. It’s the same with my memories of you. They remain the same no matter where they’re pulled from; despite the confusion and doubt that sometimes mar them. Despite the repairs, the reimagining, and the reconstructions that take place over time. They are still, more or less, stained with my adoration for you. I am far too sentimental to live any other way. 

I don’t think I’ll know if you ever feel the same, so at least I still have a manifestation of your adoration of me — my beautiful pearl necklace — no matter how different it may look underneath. Maybe you’d see me now and think that I also maintain morals. That perhaps I always did, that maybe, you just couldn’t see them, or didn’t want to. 

And to my surprise, while playing Remain in Light with my now repaired pearl necklace on, I do enjoy it. Of course it reminds me of you, but I also see why you loved it so much; it’s an amazing album. Theseus can keep the same ship, I will keep the same pearl necklace, no matter how much either change; and I will, when I can, still think fondly of you. 

This photograph was exhibited at Unassigned Gallery with Queer Love Collective for the exhibition ‘Queer Heirlooms’.