The Keychain That Never Left Me

Image: Round keychain with a glossy front showing a stylized blue cat against a dark background.

The cat has a long, curved body with spots, big yellow-orange eyes, pink nose, and its front paws stretched out in front.

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I’ve lost more keychains than I can count.

Not because I’m careless — but because keychains, as an object, are badly designed. That little split ring most of them rely on? It opens under stress, fatigue, and time. And when it does, your favorite character quietly slips away without sound or warning. One day it’s there. The next day it’s gone.

Image: Wooden key fob with a dark brown finish, lying on a light speckled stone or tile surface.

On the round wood piece, the number “105” is carved in large digits.

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Over the years, Tigers, superheroes, anime characters — vanished.

Image: Round plastic keychain with a bright blue front, lying on a stone-like surface.

On the blue circle there is a stylized cartoon creature, mostly purple and black, with a long pointed head, big round white eyes, and thin legs, giving it a quirky, abstract look.

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Except one.

A Pocket-Sized Companion Since 1997

There’s one keychain I still carry today. I’ve had it since 1997 or 1998.

It’s a character from 《風雲》 (The Storm Riders), a Chinese kung fu fantasy film. Back then, I didn’t even know who the character was. But it was a Chinese martial arts figure — and honestly, that alone felt right. A little kung fu guy on my keys? Yeah. That belonged with me.

I remember the moment clearly.

My younger brother, my mom, and I were in a Chinese supermarket. My brother showed me these movie character keychains. I fell in love with one immediately… and then heard the price.

$25.

Not $25 in today’s money.

$25 in 1997 money.

That was an insane amount for a two-inch keychain. I knew better than to ask. I put it back and walked out of the store without it.

Image: Small figurine keychain of a matador lying on a stone-like surface.

The figure is wearing a red cape with yellow trim, a yellow and brown jacket, bright green pants, and black boots.

Paint is worn and chipped in several places, especially on the pants and jacket.

A short metal chain attaches the figurine to a keyring with a single silver key visible on the left.

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That night, just before bed, my mom came into my room. She put something into my hand.

“Guard it safely,” she said.

“This will probably be the last f***ing keychain I ever buy for you.”

I still laugh when I remember that.

Image: Small matador figurine keychain, shown from the back, lying on a stone-patterned surface.

The figure has dark, combed hair and wears a flowing red cape with darker shading that billows out and partly covers bright green pants and dark boots.

A yellow-sleeved arm with a hand is visible on the right side.

On the left, a short silver chain connects the figurine to a keyring with a few metal keys.

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Thirty Years. Zero Failures.

That keychain has been with me ever since.

Through moves. Through travel. Through different phases of my life. Through hundreds of lost and broken keychains attached to it and removed from it.

And here’s the part that still blows my mind:

It has never fallen off. Not once.

Nearly 30 years later, the ring still holds. The figure is still there. Worn smooth in places from my fingers, but intact. Solid. Reliable.

Maybe that $25 price tag wasn’t ridiculous after all. Maybe it paid for good design — proper metal, proper linkage, something built to last instead of fail quietly.

Image: Gold-colored metal keychain shaped like a curled dragon, lying on a stone-patterned surface.

The dragon is mechanical-looking, with segmented armor, many spikes along its back, and a long pointed snout.

It is attached to a textured metal keyring on the right, and some black cords or straps are looped around the lower part of the dragon and a black cylindrical object at the bottom.

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Childhood DIY Keychains

As a teenager, I used to make my own keychains. I’d buy little non-articulated PVC figures — Power Rangers, Batman, Sailor Moon — the kind that came in tubes or bags. I’d drill them, screw in a chain, and boom: a DIY keychain that meant something.

Image: Bright blue animal keychain, shaped like a standing bear or similar creature, attached to a camo-patterned fabric bag.

The animal is textured, facing right with its front paws lifted, and has a few short black stitches or markings along its back.

 The keyring and a small green tag are at the top left.

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You don’t see those figures much anymore. Everything’s flat acrylic now. Cheap. Disposable. Forgettable.

Those DIY keychains weren’t just toys. They were tactile companions. They survived pockets, travel, and stress. They were my hands-on way of carrying little characters with me, each one sparking ideas and inspiration for my art.

Image: Teardrop‑shaped metal keychain attached to a camouflage bag.

In the center is a black raised design of two abstract figures.

Around the edge, the text reads:
SONS AND DAUGHTERS OF GUAM CLUB (along the left and top in red)
SAN DIEGO, CA (along the right and bottom in dark blue).

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Why Keychains Matter to Me (More Than Nostalgia)

As a tactile artist, I rely on touch the way sighted artists rely on visual references.

When I’m traveling, I can’t bring my action figure collection with me. But these little figural keychains — actual 3D characters with real proportions — become portable body references. I feel posture. Weight. Muscle placement. Balance. They spark ideas when I’m drawing, sculpting, or thinking through a pose.

That’s why keychains aren’t just collectibles for me. They’re tools, anchors, and inspiration.

Image: Small plush moose keychain dressed like a scout or park ranger, hanging from a teal backpack strap.

The moose is tan, wearing a gold hat and a bright red shirt with small rank-style patches on the sleeve.

A metal clip and keyring attach it to the bag’s webbing, and a white tag hangs below the moose.

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Rediscovery in Korea

Recently, I was in Korea for an art show. While there, we stopped at a tiny convenience store. At the counter, inside a big wicker basket, sat about 50 keychains of different characters.

I didn’t know most of them, but that didn’t matter. Just touching them, feeling the shapes through their little plastic bags, was like meeting a long-lost friend. My fingers explored proportions, curves, and poses, and something inside me lit up.

It awakened a memory from my childhood — making my own character keychains, drilling, screwing, imagining worlds for each tiny figure. It was pure tactile nostalgia. I had the money to buy them all, but I paused. The thrill wasn’t about possession — it was about remembering, feeling, and reconnecting.

Image: Small red-and-white superhero or Power Ranger–style figure keychain hanging from a teal Gregory backpack.

The figure is in an action pose with arms and legs spread wide, wearing a red suit with white gloves, boots, and a white diamond across the chest, plus a helmeted head.

A metal ring and chain attach it to the pack’s strap near the Gregory logo.

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Design Failure vs. Design That Respects You

Most keychains today are built to fail:

• flimsy split rings
• weak chains
• no redundancy

And when they fail, we blame ourselves.

Image: Back view of the same small red-and-white superhero figure keychain hanging from the teal backpack.

You can see its red suit with a white belt and white cuffs, black boots, and the metal ring and chain attached at the upper left.

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But that old 《風雲》 keychain? It respected its job.

It stayed.

Maybe That’s the Real Lesson

Some objects aren’t just accessories. They’re quiet witnesses.

That little kung fu figure has been in my pocket for nearly three decades — touched during long waits, stressful moments, creative blocks, and idle thinking. It’s survived not because I was lucky… but because someone, somewhere, decided to build it right.

And because my mom, in her very loving and very blunt way, decided it was worth it.

Image: Small action-figure keychain of a muscular man hanging from a teal backpack strap.

The figure has blond hair, bare chest, and is wearing bright yellow and purple pants with a red belt, white socks, and brown shoes.

He is posed with one arm raised and legs bent as if jumping or kicking, and is attached to the bag by a small metal ring and chain.

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If you’re curious about my work as a tactile artist, musician, and educator, you can find more at:

👉 https://johnnytiger.com

👉 https://tigertactile.com

#KeychainStories #TactileArt #BlindArtist #DesignMatters #KungFuCulture #風雲 #StormRiders #EverydayObjects #MartialArtsLife #MemoryInObjects #AccessibleDesign #JohnnyTiger