(so this isn't exactly in line with the promt, but I wanted practice for a sort of narrative essay style because I'm working on my college essays and I don't really know what I'm doing.)

Time capsules are a unique form of preservation. Most forms, whether fossils, or pictures, or diaries, are focused. They capture one shape, or moment, or thought process. A time capsule, however, allows for many different moments, people, and ideas. It's a marble cake of narratives. It paints a picture with many different brushes and colors. And, most importantly, it is made of human collaboration.

So it's safe to say I have an appreciation for time capsules. But while I love them very much, I have never actually created a time capsule. I have always wanted to, but the weight of the capsule has always made me nervous. When you make one, you are highlighting the most important things to you- the things you want someone who never knew you to know. So while I've never made one, I like to imagine what my perfect time capsule would look like.

When making a time capsule, there are three important pieces: location, material, and contents. Each of the pieces has to have value, and each value usually compliments the other two. Not challenging at all, I know.

So, first. Location. In house-hunting, location is the number one most valued part of a house. In a time capsule, I would say it is probably second. For my location, I would bury my time capsule deep under the twisted roots of my tree growing up. Although I grew up in many houses, this tree is at the center of many of my childhood fantasies. Playing under its branches, I was an explorer, or fairy, or pirate, or king. (that is, until my Mom called for dinner). So where else to put a collection of my memories than under the tree that nurtured many of them.

Second, then, is material. This one is last in memory but first in durability. Place it where you want for importance. My material would probably be some kind of metal, engraved with the words "this time capsule contains the memories of one [my name], buried in 2023 C.E." and then the star chart in case C.E. is no longer the known time keeper. What can I say, I'm a pragmatist.

Third, and finally, are the contents. I will pick five, but know that that number is subject to grow along with my age.

My first content is a picture. It is a picture of a little me, grinning up at the camera with chocolate around my face after I ate too much in a fit of excitement. On the back, it lists the date and a bit about my family and childhood.

My second is another picture. It is of me now, one of my senior photos taken recently. I look worlds away from the kid with chocalate smeared on her face. The back talks of that difference, and of my plans for the future.

My third memory is a dictonary that I used growing up. It has colorful pictures and pages worn from flipping through it. A letter, pressed into the front pages, inscribes the dictonaries' importance to me. The games my mother taught me to play with it. My craving for knowledge, books, and words. How it taught me to communicate and lead with curiosity.

The fourth is a stuffed animal that my best friend won for me at the local fair. Its letter describes her in detail: her smile, her laugh, her stubborn personality. It details the day we met, the night she won the felt plushie for me. It ends with the hope that future readers have someone to love as I love her.

The fifth and final momento changes four or five times. It switches between an acceptance letter, an article on the pandemic that stuck in 2020, my favorite, furiosly annotated novel, my diary, and finally my sketchbook. The book has drawings, colored art, and paintings. each is dated and each is etched in love and care. A sticky note- neon green- adorns it. It says only that this sketchbook contains my throughts and emotions throughout the years, and begs the discoverer to look over it with care.

Five-hundred years later, it will be found. Or maybe not. It might be found in five years, when developers tear up the tree seeking to turn my neighborhood into a bright new shopping center. Who knows. Whatever happens, whoever finds it, I hope it will be found and cherished. Because time capsules are not a solitary act- even when made alone. They are an ode to the past and a proclaimation for the future, all wrapped in one. They are not made to be buried- they are made to be found. And whoever finds mine will know a little more about the life I lived and the world they inherited. And maybe they'll stop and sit in reverance of that human connection. That is why I dream of my perfect time capsule.