Fresh

This blog is called “my mini black journal” because many of the ideas I will write about are born from what I write in my mini black journal. 

Everywhere I go, this mini black journal sits at the bottom of my bag. It’s there, on-call, ready for whenever the seed of inspiration fertilizes my mind. That’s when I pull it out, before it gets too cozy with the empty gum wrappers and half-used lipsticks.

On the front is a sticker that looks like my cat. On the back, a sticker of a soft-eyed girl holding a deer. Both resting on top of a smooth, black cover that’s soft to the touch. 

And inside– everything. My thoughtless thoughts, my thoughtful thoughts, a cool book quote, a piece of a conversation with a friend, a fun fact, an observation. They’re all there, in my worst handwriting possible. 

The scribbles of my writing are like the folds of my brain. Every curve and imperfection an essence of me.  And because we can’t go around cutting into people’s heads to get a better peek into their mind, I figured this is the closest thing I can offer as mine. 

I don’t know what’s to come from this blog. Maybe a reader or two, each most likely being my roommate and dad. But of course, as every other person who decides to start a blog knows, there is literally no transactional objective for this. 

Perhaps I’ll emulate a bit of Plath, ripping chunks of my brain and taping them to the page. Or dance a bit of the Didion and keenly watch the world around me to paint its detailed portrait. 

But there is no destiny we need to fulfill here. There is only one thing I wish to do: write. To see what comes out when I sit down and be a little mindful. To see if the stained can be cleansed, become a bit fresher than before.