Personal Narrative: Ten Year Old Tags

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Underneath my bed lies a small yet overflowing box encapsulating the many tags I have collected for the past nine years of my life. From a distance, the contents appear to be an odd melange of colors and shapes, but they are much more to me. My miniature treasure trove consists of clothing tags, labels plucked off bags, and some other items. As I gently explore this unorganized collection of memorabilia, I find boarding passes from the places I have traveled to and stayed in. I recall the wide-eyed, excited ten year old I had been when my parents had declared we were moving to Malaysia for three years, and the vigor with which I participated in community service in Cambodia and Indonesia. I also discover old tags from the expensive traditional

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