Moments I Stuck Forever

I started journaling because I felt like I wanted to hold memories forever. I began with day entries, but quickly realised that sometimes you don’t want your bad memories staring back at you forever. The first few pages gave me a negative vibe, so I switched things up. Now, I have a big, crazy, messy-yet-cute junk journal, my little world of memories.

I’ll be adding a few pictures soon, but for now, imagine all the chaos I’ve put inside: photo booth strips from Timezone, ticket stubs, flowers I received, and all the tiny gifts I stuck in, covering pages with memories. I even added cute little doodles, tiny red hearts, and random scribbles, everything I wanted to remember, no matter how small or silly.

Some nights, when everything feels too loud, I open it again. I flip through the pages slowly, hearing my own voice in the scribbles, the quiet ones I never speak out loud. And somehow, the world feels a little gentler.

My junk journal has become a little world of its own. It’s messy, soft, chaotic, and perfect in its imperfection. A place where ticket stubs, dried petals, stickers, and tiny thoughts coexist. Some nights, when everything feels too loud, I flip through it again, and it whispers, “You remembered, you felt, you lived.”

Lately, I’ve been collecting the tiniest things, a ribbon from a gift, a piece of lace from an old dress, soft corners of wrapping paper, slipping them into my pages as if they were meant to be there. It’s messy, it’s soft, it’s mine, and I love it.

Every page tells a little story. Sometimes it’s happy, sometimes it’s messy, sometimes it’s chaotic, but it’s mine. And when I close the journal, I feel like I’m leaving a tiny treasure chest of life behind, a place that will always remember what I almost forgot.

Some pages are full of colours; some are empty and soft, waiting for a thought to land. Some are sticky with tape and glue; some are slightly torn because I couldn’t resist sticking too many things. Each imperfection makes it feel alive.

And the best part? I can always come back. On nights when the world is too bright or too loud, I flip through it slowly. I laugh. I smile. I cry a little. And somehow, the messy jumble of thoughts, doodles, tickets, flowers, and tiny scraps reminds me: the small things matter, the little moments stick, and life is beautifully chaotic.

Sometimes, you just want something that’s yours, just you and your cute, crazy journey, stuck somewhere between the pages.