I am also a writer, daily life, record, world travel.

The idea of writing began with a very small coincidence.

I was walking in the alley without thinking.

As always, Baranasi’s narrow alleys are so congested that even the normal mind of the man is completely taken away.

I stopped walking and took out my cell phone because I couldn’t find a way out of the gat. As I stood still and checked the meaningless map, a small note shop man in front of me grabbed my hand.

I think it meant that you should take a look around and go.

Entering the store and looking at leather notebooks for quite a long time, a palm-sized notebook caught my eye. The color is dark, and the one that doesn’t stand out fits my taste.

At that time, I hesitated to buy it because the price of my notebook was so high that I decided to pay for my daily trip, but I bought a small notebook because I couldn’t resist the owner’s backache. It was quite impulsive.

At that time I didn’t know the waves of great change that the notebook would bring to my life.

I was blanking out in the gat without thinking, and suddenly boredom came in. Feeling bored without any worries was one of the greatest pleasures of my life, but somehow the boredom at that time was unbearable. It was such boredom that I felt I had to do something.

When I looked around, I couldn’t find anything to do, so I started searching my bag.

Today, I couldn’t see the book I always had in my bag, and somehow there was no cell phone in it. It was a very unusual day.

I had no choice but to take out a small notebook and a ballpoint pen that had been placed in the bag.

And I began to write in my notebook without any thought.

today’s weather

the air of the day

today’s mood

What I ate for lunch today.

The people I met today in the garts.

I spent a long time writing in my notebook, and only after realizing it was getting dark did I get up from my seat.

After finishing all the day’s work, I lay in an old bed where the mattress was half-off, organizing what happened today one by one, and I remembered writing in my notebook.

For me, who has never written a short sentence except for the answers to the hard test paper, the act of writing was quite strange, but at the same time I liked it very much.

At that time I was looking for a way to capture my daily life.

Traveling to so many countries and so many cities, it was such a waste of time that I couldn’t catch.

That’s what made me yearn for a way to record this moment.

Of course, I take pictures, but maybe because of my lack of skills, my feelings were not captured well in the pictures. I thought about drawing a picture, but my hand didn’t follow me.

After a long time of thought, I couldn’t find an answer, and I had this worry piled up with other worries at the end of my heart.

Now that I think about it, I thought that writing could be a way to capture my daily life.

The act of writing itself was unfamiliar, but there was no objection, and although I was really bad at writing, it seemed that there was no big problem because I was able to recognize it.

So from that day on I decided to write.

Whether my writing is short or long, whether it is complete or not, I decided not to care much about it.

Even now that I’ve been writing for some time now, my writing is a mess, but it didn’t matter.

I just needed a way to record my normal, boring routine, and writing just matched that goal.

Ever since the day I happened to buy a small notebook on impulse in a narrow alleyway, I started writing every day.

The average writing was dull and not much.

But recording those boring articles, rereading the boring ones over time, made me really happy.

The notebook I bought at that time had already been packed and stuffed into a small drawer, but that didn’t mean I finished writing.

The notebook is already full and not in my hands, but I keep writing, recording my daily life.

I can’t get the time to go by, and I can’t let it go in my memory.

Writing.

It began with a very trivial coincidence.

But it was the best and only way to capture my story.

Although the little notebook is already full, I won’t stop writing.

To hold the time that passes, to look back the time that has been held.