The Narratives – Mohamed Miah

Describe an item you were incredibly attached to as a youth. What became of it?

When I think back to my childhood and the one item I was most attached to, you might expect me to say a remote-control car—I had a Ferrari one—or maybe a games console, like my trusty Amstrad with Burnin’ Rubber or the Sega Master System. I even had a Game Boy and Game Gear, though I was always a bit late to the party with those. But no, the item that truly held a piece of my heart was a humble red plastic briefcase.

It wasn’t flashy or expensive, but it was everything to me. At around five or six years old, I used to carry it everywhere. It wasn’t just a container for my belongings, it was a treasure chest of my little world. Inside, I stashed books, pencils, bits of food, and random trinkets—anything I deemed precious. It was my toolbox for childhood adventures, my portable safe for the few valuables a kid can claim.

Back then, English wasn’t my first language, but this briefcase gave me a sense of importance. I’d clutch it tightly, pretending I was someone who mattered, someone who could speak English fluently—even if my “English” was made up entirely of gibberish.

“Ashtak bana mushtak mushtik.”

That was my “English.” I’d spout those nonsense words with such self-assuredness, marching around with my briefcase as though I were the Prime Minister of my tiny universe. To me, those words had meaning, and that confidence carried me until I actually learned the language.

I was inseparable from that briefcase. It even slept under my pillow some nights, tucked away as if it contained a great secret. But like all childhood treasures, its time eventually came to an end. After a few years, the briefcase had seen better days. It was cracked, smelly, and far past its prime. One day, my mum decided enough was enough and threw it away.

I remember the sadness that hit me when I realised it was gone. I searched for it, hoping it might magically reappear, but it didn’t. The grief lasted all of a day or two, but as kids do, I moved on quickly. The briefcase became a memory—albeit one that still brings a smile to my face whenever I think about it.

Looking back now, I realise it wasn’t just a red plastic case. It was a vessel for my imagination, my dreams, and my determination to figure out the world around me. And while it’s long gone, the fond memories will forever remain.

Sometimes, the most valuable things aren’t the ones that cost a fortune—they’re the ones that made us feel like we were kings or queens of our own little imaginary kingdoms. That red plastic briefcase was mine.