Monday, April 27, 2009


I can't recall how I started writing in journals. It's likely that my parents bought me a cute, pink, girly notebook when I was a kid. The kind with scented pages, accompanied by a little golden lock and key. I began writing on an almost daily basis. I wrote about my days in school, how I worried about the upcoming Maths test, how I wanted to get into the school's badminton team etc. It all seems so trivial now, sometimes funny, sometimes cringeworthy, but they were HUGE issues to me back then.

As I became older, I continued writing but less often (there are just more and more things swallowing one's time). But I always made it a point to note significant events or those that meant something to me. I guess it stems from a want to preserve them, even the details, on paper, afraid that my own memory would fade with time. Having these documented, it's fun flipping through the pages once in a blue moon and have the scenes re-enacted in my head. I would take a look at myself then. How much have I changed? How am I still the same?

Check out these traveller's journals from Casual Poet. Can't wait to lay my hands on them and feel the texture of the paper (yes, I'm crazy about paper). How nice to be sitting in an alfresco cafe in Paris on a nice sunny morning, sipping coffee/tea. A pen in my hand, this gorgeous  Paris journal on the table. Watching the world go by...

[images from Casual Poet]

1 comment:

  1. I don't find that all books have to be a journal. I use my books to write all sorts of things in them. My thoughts and inspirations, my dreams and aspirations, and even my disappointments. Those are beautiful journals.


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