got my first real pair of earrings at 17.

I owned a few boring pairs of studs but had never paid much attention to jewelry. One day, I was admiring my aunt Lisa’s impressive collection of dangle earrings when a pair of gold-tinted ovals caught my eye. They were one of the few gold pieces in her jewelry case, and I had a gold necklace that would match them perfectly, so I immediately asked to borrow them.

Lisa refused to take them back , insisting I keep them for myself. It was typical of her — she took her aunt role very seriously, spoiling her 24 nieces and nephews with gifts and orchestrating many mischievous pranks. Perhaps the best example is when she bought a large container with hundreds of tiny multicolored plastic ducks, which she gave to my younger cousins to hide around my aunts’, uncles’, and grandparents’ houses. (They hid a duck in a stick of butter once.) Knowing her, I wasn’t surprised that she wanted me to keep her earrings.

The gold ovals from Lisa are where my collection started. I now have exactly 53 pairs of earrings with me on campus, which I store in two overflowing jewelry boxes. I have collected a little of everything — animals, food items, flowers, and more.

My earrings chart a map of my life – the memories I’ve made and the places I’ve been — but more importantly, they are a perfect reflection of the people I love.

Most are gifts from my friends and family, and each pair is a constant reminder of the person who gave it to me. My friend Gigi gave me earrings with tiny red hearts that she found in a small thrift store in her home state of New York. She saw them and thought of me, and now I see them and think of her.

My roommate Athena gave me earrings that she made herself — small pink flowers made out of felt. Not only are they gorgeous, they also remind me of her as a person, reflecting her abundance of creativity and talent.

Serendipitously, my friend Margaret gave me her pink flowers too, all the way from India, where she visited for Harvard Model United Nations this summer. They remind me of her passion and intellect; she will probably be president one day (convenient for me, because I’ll have earrings from the president).

Beyond Margaret’s earrings from India, another friend bought me a pair of toucans from Colombia, then went on a cruise and bought me earrings from every country the ship stopped in — teddy bear earrings and owl earrings from Panama, blue dolphins and red butterflies from Costa Rica.

Gifts like these are my favorite earrings. I wear them as distinct reminders of the people in my life who see earrings and immediately think of me; they tell me I am loved. And, in turn, each pair reflects something about the people it comes from — an experience or memory or skill they have. I feel like I have a small part of them with me when I wear their earrings. And though I have never actually left the country, I have earrings from all over the world, tiny vehicles to explore an international expanse.

Other earrings are tied to landmark memories in my life.

I spent this summer in Portland, Maine as a reporting intern, where I learned priceless lessons about working in a professional newsroom. I also made countless memories in a state I had never visited before, including attending my first ever Pride in June.

I am from a small, conservative, religious town in Minnesota, where I was extremely cautious about revealing my bisexuality to anyone, much less attending a large event that would immediately identify me as queer. I came out to a few close friends in high school, and I have learned to be more comfortable with my identity in college, but I still felt apprehensive about being seen at a large Pride event, afraid that my family and friends in my hometown would find out.

I attended the Pride festival in Portland with my friend (and Fifteen Minutes editor) Kate, wading through a huge crowd of smiling spectators. I got emotional watching the parade — no one seemed afraid or ashamed as they waved and walked down the street.

After the parade, we explored the vendors selling clothes, crafts, and trinkets. I walked right up to a jewelry table and bought beautiful homemade earrings — blue flowers set in resin, framed in gold circles. I wear them often, and each time, I can remember my first Pride.

I wear other earrings more selectively.

My aunt Lisa died in January 2025. I only wear her earrings on special occasions now, afraid I’ll break them. My family set a container of tiny, multicolored ducks on a table at her funeral so attendees could each take one home. I brought a few to campus with me, but none of my friends know their significance. I still keep one in my pocket.

The newest pair of earrings in my collection is from Margaret. She stumbled across them this summer in North Carolina and thought of me. She didn’t know it when she found them, but they meant more than she could have ever expected.

They’re ducks.

—Magazine writer Megan L. Blonigen can be reached at [email protected] and on Signal at mblon.50. Follow her on X at @MeganBlonigen.