Journal Finds: The little black notebook

Journal Finds: To Be Filled or To Be Emptied

Some people collect stamps. Some collect shoes. Some collect memories and experiences. Myself, I collect journals. Whenever I came home from wherever I’ve been, I would always end up with a few journals from random bookstores. Spiral, composition, prompted journals, planners, art notebooks, name them all, I would probably have them stored somewhere. To me, the blank pages represent fresh new beginnings.

I have a room with a corner library filled with books and journals. Some journals are filled with emotionally inspired words stringed together by sleep-deprived handwriting, while some are empty and waiting to be filled with creatively overthought and oftentimes, happy, careless words. My collection gradually grew as I found that it was an effective way to calm and empty my thoughts. Journaling became an escape for me. Regardless of the content, I would write down everything that occupied my thinking space in an attempt to lighten my plumping mind. It all worked out well, but as time went by, my library became unsightly. I lost the motivation to write, and so I ended up with an abundant amount of empty journals and an obese and cluttered mind.

After watching a show about igniting happiness in this materialistic world, thinking that it would help organize the clutter in my library and mind, I decided to explore my world of unorganized journals. Just as the lady suggested, I held on to each journal and flipped through each page. I organized them into two categories: To Be Filled and To Be Emptied. I journeyed through a variety of poems, unfinished song lyrics, made-up conversations, childish stories, and memory jogging diary entries. My journey to ignite happiness came to a pause when I found a little black journal that refused to be categorized.

Journal Finds: The Little Black Journal

The journal wasn’t as eye-catching as the others that I owned. It didn’t have a colourfully designed cover, nor did it have an inspiring quote on the front cover. It was a black pocket-sized Moleskine with a plain layout and a hardcover. It also had a thin black garter, the purpose of which I still do not fully understand.

I lifted the garter that held the pages together and nonchalantly flipped through it. I wanted to see if I used it as a “memory aid” to hold information that easily left my brain – Yes, the “Forgot your/my password” link is my best friend – or if it was another empty journal waiting to be filled with my word vomit.

I had to flip through the little black journal a couple of times, not just because it had words in it, but because it also had no words in it. As I looked through the pages, the words would appear and then disappear. I rubbed my eyes, thinking that I was just tired after reading stories on Vocal.

After resting my eyes, I scanned the little black journal again, and the same thing happened. Words appeared and disappeared, but after reading the last page, curiousity, excitement, fear, and many other emotions played with the shivering in my spine. Coming back to my senses, before the words could disappear, I quickly grabbed another Moleskine and copied the message.

Journal Finds: The Price of Words

Just as I finished writing, the message on the last page of the little black journal disappeared. I thanked my past self for honing my notetaking and speed writing skills during university.

Bank account no. XXXXXXXX

Password XXXXXXXX

Greetings!

Words are powerful. They can be used as weapons to offend or

shields that defend.

Words without gratitude have no power or meaning.

Fill each page well and earn the price for every word.

Using my deduction skills developed from watching numerous detective and mystery shows, I tried to make sense of the words. “Fill each page well and earn the price for every word.” “Fill each page” was not a concern for me. I knew I could write something that would fill a page. The word “well” left me pondering and hesitant. I had to earn the price for every word. What standard does “well” hold up to?

Giving my deducing skills some rest, I turned my laptop on and logged into the bank account. My eyes widened as I saw $20,000.00 in the chequing account. Is this real? I did a quick Doodle search to check if scams similar to this existed. A little black journal, words that perform disappearing acts, a mysterious message, and a bank account with $20,000.00, it was impossible to make sense of it all.

Doodle search results: No results found.

In a time where everything could be Doodled, no results were found. It was neither good nor bad. It meant that this was not an existing scam, nor was it a new one. Skeptical, I still took a chance and tried to transfer the money into my bank account. Ding! A pop-up appeared.

Transaction denied. The necessary amount of pages on the little black notebook is not filled.

Journal Finds: Salt. Snow. Neighbour.

My attempts to “earn the price for every word” did not show any promising results. I wrote down a diary entry of how I found the little black journal with the mysterious message. I wrote down a list of things that I would purchase once I got the $20,000. I came up with an emotional and money inspired poem. I filled up as many pages as I could, but none of the words earned the price of the mystery bank account.

I flipped through the pages thinking that the magical words would give me a clue. Salt. Snow. Neighbour. Those were the words that I was able to make out after one flip through. I concluded that I had to use each word as a prompt for each page. I wrote stories and poems about Sodium chloride and frozen water. None of them earned the price of the bank account. Puzzled and frustrated, I decided to take a walk. I kept pondering about the words that I saw. Salt. Snow. Neighbour. What do they mean?

Just as I was about to reach home, I slipped on a thin sheet of black ice that I didn’t see because of the layer of snow covering it. The words danced around my head, much like the stars circling around the head of cartoon characters after a fall. As the pain subsided, the words stopped dancing around my head, and a realization hit me. I have elderly neighbours that love to take walks even in this snowy weather. I have more than enough rock salt for my driveway.

I quickly went to my garage and pulled out a bag of rock salt. Like a fairy from a fairy-tale, I pranced around and sprinkled my neighbour’s driveway and sidewalk. Hyped by the act of kindness, I sprinkled salt around my neighbourhood until the bag of rock salt was empty. I then went home and wrote down what I did, not shying away from praising myself for my act of kindness. I figured that this act of kindness adhered to the standard of being a shield that could defend. After I finished writing, I visited the bank account again and tried to conduct another money transaction. With fingers crossed and eyes closed, I waited for the ding of the pop-up message. Ding!

Transaction denied. Intention error.

Journal Finds: Intention Error

After multiple failed attempts at “earning” the mystery bank account money, I decided to take a break from the little black journal and finish organizing my journal collection. I picked up the box filled with my “To Be Emptied” journals and read through them one by one. After browsing through about five or so journals, a realization sparked in my head, igniting the happiness that I used to have when I started journaling.

Being 28, single, and unsatisfied with my accomplishments in life, I lost the carefree, creative writing spirit that I used to have. I became obsessed with chasing the idea of what success was, according to the standards of the workforce. My journal entries reflected the decline in my positivity and self-esteem. My entries about dreams were overshadowed by entries about complaints and grumbling about gossip at work. My cringy light-hearted stories and poems disappeared and were replaced with “To do” lists and computations of debts and finances. No wonder I stopped writing. I lost the motivation to do so.

I decided to shake off the negativity, grabbed the closest empty journal I could find, and began writing. I wrote about igniting my happiness after browsing through my journals. I wrote about how I love taking walks with my dog. I wrote positively about slipping on ice as it reminded me of helping my neighbour. I wrote about my memories of helping out my neighbour with tasks like salting the sidewalks during winter and shovelling their driveway. After reading what I had written, I realized why I received the message: Intention error.

Journal Finds: Gratitude

As I was sitting in my room, reflecting upon my selfishness, and newly found writing mindset, the doorbell rang. I looked out the window and saw that it was my neighbour. It was an odd sight because my neighbour, an elderly couple, would always be seen together. I stepped away from my thoughts and started heading towards the front door. Before I could reach the front door, I looked through the frosted glass window of the door and saw that my neighbour was no longer there.

Upon opening the front door, a note fell to my feet. The paper was folded neatly. It brought back memories as she would always do the same act of leaving a note to thank me for helping her with some tasks. I unfolded the piece of paper and read the note carefully, expecting a little thank you for salting the sidewalk.

After reading her note, I ran back towards my room and looked for the mystical little black book. I rummaged through the box of “To be filled” journals and failed to find the little black book. I found it on my bed, beside the box of “To be emptied” journals. I ended up using it as it was the closest blank journal to me when I found inspiration from reading my old journals. I flipped to a blank page and wrote down what my neighbor had written in her “thank you” note.

Hello,

It’s been a while since I wrote a note of gratitude. I realized that you got busy after finding a job and so I decided not to bother you anymore with menial tasks. When I looked out my window and saw you salting my sidewalk and driveway, I felt really thankful. I couldn’t do it because I couldn’t buy any rock salt. You see, after my husband passed away, money became scarce. I had to prioritize rock-salt was the least important on my list of things to buy.

I hope work is not as stressful. Let’s chat when you have time.

Thank you again,

Gratitude

Journal Finds: Transaction Completed

“Words without gratitude have no power or meaning.”

When I finished copying what Gratitude wrote on her note, I started writing about how thankful I was for what I had. I wrote about having a job. I wrote about being able to afford what I needed and more. I then wrote about how regretful I felt about not realizing about Gratitude’s loss because I was too immersed in my troubles.

I filled up pages of the little black journal in no time. I fastened the thin garter to close the journal and placed it in my “To be emptied” box. I logged into the mystery bank account and transferred the $20,000.00 into my account. Ding!

Transaction Completed. Thank you for your gratitude.

I quickly put on my coat, collected Gratitude, and went to the grocery store.