Some people are naturally drawn to writing – scribbling notes in the margins, jotting poems and little stories, mostly for themselves, sometimes to entertain others. I’ve always been one of them. Every Christmas, I asked for a new journal.
At first, they came with cute illustrations, questionnaires and only a few blank pages. Later, as my writing grew more “sophisticated”, the journals became simpler: a beautifully decorated cover, sometimes leather-bound, and clean, unlined pages that invited experiments – haiku (always about heartbreak), song lyrics, fragments of short stories, scattered observations about life.
