One of my most beloved golden hoops that I inherited from Mum with a few other heirlooms broke this morning: the inner clasp has disappeared, which means that they are irreparable. It left me inconsolable: I know for a fact that Mum adored them, and my earliest memories about her are her face, her favourite perfume (Vivre by Molyneux) and her hoops.

Of course, I will treasure them and preserve them in one of the trinket boxes, but the idea that I couldn’t wear them anymore makes me sad. Was I rough when I put them on in a hurry? I don’t know, maybe, and this inconsistent feeling of regret and shame about my awkwardness makes the feeling of loss even sharper. Stupid moment of a clunky move.

***

After one of Mum’s golden hoops broke, I decided to visit the jewellers that had repaired a few of my trinkets before, and so I did. They took the damaged earring and promised to restore it: what a relief!—and in addition, two golden chains with missing clasps, also inherited from my parents. One needed advanced restoration, and the other one just a mild tweak.

A jeweller, a very young girl, told me that it would take a few minutes to work on the second chain. Upon returning it to me, she couldn’t conceal her excitement.

“That chain of yours… Is it, like, Soviet?”

“It is indeed,” said I, trying not to chuckle.

“Sorry to ask,” the girl continued, “but it has that branding! A hammer and sickle!”

I was surprised: I remember, of course, that Soviet gold had its own hallmarks that were quite different from the West’s—like, the notorious “583 golden standard”, but I had no clue that it had that special feature, too.

The girl was really excited, but I had mixed feelings towards it—bittersweet because of its precious family value (which doesn’t, of course, mean that it’s in any way unique or very expensive in a broader sense) and more thoughtful towards its—and my own—past.