The box I unpacked has all the relics of memories I traded away in order to create my clockwork soldiers. They could have been faked as far as I know. Sometimes I like to do that -- create evidence of a fake memory and leave it behind in these boxes as a little practical joke against my future self.
Anyway, this box has a yearbook of the year I spent being made of steam, with photos and medical papers and diary entries. It has a book of traffic rules for driving a car through Fairyland. A little black datebook full of IP addresses from that summer I spent in London, dating robots. Little paper dolls of werewolves that fold over so they can change shape. Jeweler's rouges I bought, in hopes that they might work as gunpowder in some other dimension. Teensy-weensy jetpacks that either are broken or just never worked. Photographs of four-dimensional friends all drunk on absinthe and treachery. A superhero outfit far too scandalous for me to have ever worn it -- at least I hope so. Letters I wrote to old, old friends, all in Proto-Indo-European. Textbooks from the class I presumably took, with lessons about how to give up your memories to make clockwork soldiers. Choreography instructions for those same clockwork soldiers to have a big evening victory ball, all in dashing uniforms with sashes and sabers. Nasty little taunting postcards from evil robot twins, from parallel-world doubles, from past selves that I either forgot or erased. One very nice posthumous postcard from my ex's old goldfish (who was so awesome!)
Plus, best of all, tasty nutribars from the future! I know that nutri-balanced replacement bars have a bad reputation these days for being soulless or bland, but that's because the people who diss nano-assembled flavor nutribars from the future have never tried them. Flavor nutribars are far and away better-tasting and more varied and interesting than the finest of dishes of today! I thought I was all out of them, but I found a stash! Woot!
It's lovely the things you can find in your own past.