More Than Just a Journal

Up until high school, I woke up to the jarring sound of the Teasmade – an automated tea-making contraption that also happened to have an alarm – which sat on my grandad’s bedside table. His bedroom was right across from mine, so I’d get up, make my way to his room, and sit next to him to enjoy our first cup of tea for the day.

Sometimes he’d ask me if I had dreamt of anything, and I would go on to share my strange, action-packed dreams of becoming a Jedi (or something along those lines), only to be met with a confused “That sounds exciting.” I mean, fair enough; it’s not like my dreams were that relatable. Other times, he’d share something from the latest book he was reading or a TED Talk he had watched, most of which went right over my head, but I did my best to listen and ask questions. It was where I learned the phrase “penny for your thoughts?,” which he used anytime I stared into space. It was where he first started asking me questions about Islam – he was Christian at the time. It was where we got into a debate about whether to put on trousers first or the shirt. My grandad was a very curious person, and even before getting out of bed, he was questioning, learning, and sharing.

He didn’t just like to learn; he liked to put that learning to practice. One usually thinks of DIY as a hobby or a means to cut costs, but for Grandad, it was the norm – though I’m fairly sure he also derived a lot of joy from it too. Very rarely did he ever rely on others to do something he could do himself, whether it was electrics, carpentry, plumbing, upholstery, or even bookbinding. And with my brothers and me helping him with most of his projects, our work sessions often turned into lessons.

We had a microscope whose cardboard box was beginning to deteriorate, and so we crafted a wooden box, complete with a hinged door, magnetic latches, and little support shelves to keep the microscope from moving around inside. He taught me how to read music and play the piano. When I began learning French, he would drop little tidbits from the French he still remembered from school, like how vinegar came from the old French word for sour wine. We cooked together, making everything from poached salmon to crème brûlée to taiblet. And there were some things I didn’t fully appreciate at the time. I remember finding a box with all his bookbinding materials, and as was expected, he went on to explain what bookbinding was, how it worked, and even showed me a few of the books that he had bound himself. And I remember thinking “when will I ever need to know how to do bookbinding?” Is this foreshadowing? Absolutely... but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

Whether he instilled it in me or simply gave it opportunity to grow, this curiosity followed me throughout my life. Entering high school, I found myself joining classes, clubs and co-curriculars, trying every shiny new thing that caught my attention. Once I reached college, I pursued a whole new set of interests. Instead of French, I took Chinese; instead of joining the orchestra, I joined a dance group; instead of drawing and painting, I entered the world of photography. And while I was thousands of miles away, my grandad continued sharing his own curiosities through emails, sending links to articles and TED talks. Regretfully, most of those emails remained unopened and unanswered for a while, but I knew we would talk about them when I visited in the summer. There was one summer I didn’t spend at home. I was in China for a study abroad program. He died while I was there. And those emails remain in my inbox, unopened.

After graduating from university, I felt my curiosity wane. It wasn't gone, but it wasn't nearly as active as it had been before. I wasn't sure if it was work, COVID, the mind-numbing effect of doomscrolling, or something else, but it would be a while before it came back.

A couple of years ago, I was scrolling through Instagram when an ad caught my eye. It was for these beautifully handcrafted leather journals, but the price was slightly above what I was willing to pay and shipping would undoubtedly be an issue. Then a thought occurred to me: what if I made it myself? Mind you, I’d never actually tried to make anything out of leather before, so it would be a while before this thought led to action – after my YouTube and Instagram feeds were slowly inundated with leather craft tutorials. As I watched these tutorials, it occurred to me that I actually had some of the necessary tools already – or rather, Grandad did. As I rummaged through his boxes of tools, I thought back to the conversations he had with me about bookbinding and upholstery, wishing I had paid just a little bit more attention, at least to know whether I was staring at a leather skiving knife or just a oddly-shaped blade. Eventually, I gathered everything I needed and got to work.

It was a success! The journal came out exactly as I had designed it, but there was one small problem: the notebook that served as a guide for my measurements was a rather uncommon size. It existed in some strange liminal space between A5 and B5, meaning most of the notebooks I owned didn't quite fit, and that meant only one thing. I had to make my own notebook. And with that realisation, I facepalmed myself back to the memory of Grandad talking about bookbinding and how little I paid attention. "When will I ever need to know how to bind books?" Took a while, but eventually I found an answer.

This undertaking started as a way to save some money, and it did. I probably spent a tenth of what I would have spent on the journal I saw in that ad. But what I gained from this experience was worth a hundredfold. It reminded me of who I used to be as a child, the relationship I had with my grandad and the curious mind he helped nurture. It’s not as well-crafted as one I could have bought, or even one I could have made with Grandad's help, but I know it’s something he would have been proud of. It's a journal I am excited to use, not just own.