When I look back at my journal entries from months or years ago, it gives me hope. There’s something so profound about seeing how I wrote with a kind of blind hope, even when I didn’t know where life was heading. It’s like I was unconsciously believing that things would work out, even if I didn’t have the answers yet. Those words remind me that, no matter how uncertain life feels in the moment, there’s always a part of me that trusts in the possibility of growth and better days ahead.
Jan 14, 2025
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Pages full of old memories give me hope. Being able to look back at what I wrote, and feeling my own emotions all over again. It makes my life feel less repetitive. Being able to recall the different things I've experienced, large or small, makes me extremely grateful.
Jan 29, 2025
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Sometimes painful and not for everyone, but goddamn sometimes it feels good to know what you’ve overcome. A HUGE practice in being kind to all versions of yourself, past and present. I sometimes annotate my old ones in the margins, give myself a little “good luck.”
May 24, 2024
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I was cleaning today and stumbled upon journals from 8-10 years ago. I’m so grateful that I kept them because they are a reminder of how much I’ve grown, the many lives I’ve lived, and the people that have come and gone.
a side note is that I wasn’t particularly fond of the prose lol
Aug 17, 2024
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Something cool I learnt recently is the theory of social thermoregulation. It’s a concept that suggests warmth, whether physical or social, can influence our feelings of connection and emotional well-being. The theory, in essence, proposes that our brains are wired to perceive warmth as a form of social comfort. When we feel physically warm—like when we’re holding a hot cup of tea—our brains associate that sensation with social closeness and feelings of security, even if we’re by ourselves.
Next time you’re feeling a bit lonely or disconnected, consider reaching for a cup of tea—not just for the taste or the comfort it offers, but for the warmth that could scientifically be helping your brain feel less isolated.
Jan 14, 2025
Jan 14, 2025
I think I’m obsessed with the way people talk after sex. The rawness of it, the unraveling. Not sex itself—no, sex is almost always… not what you think it’ll be. It’s not what movies promised or what your own mind built it up to be. It’s hands and limbs and sometimes good, sometimes okay, sometimes you’re just waiting for it to end. But, the moments after.
It’s messy, but not in the way sex is messy. It’s messy in the way people are messy, when their guard drops and the words spill out in no particular order. The room smells like skin and warmth and whatever happened before, and somehow, this feels more intimate than the act itself.
They’ll say something random, like how their mom used to burn toast every morning, or they’ll ask you about a scar you forgot you even had. They’ll let a sentence fall out that feels so tender, so unguarded, and you just know they didn’t mean to share it—but now it’s yours. And maybe you say something back, maybe you don’t. Maybe you’re just lying there wondering how you ended up in this moment with this person you thought you knew but didn’t, not really.
Jan 28, 2025