In January I went for a weekend to Northern Ireland to see my cousins and Grandparents. For some reason the whole weekend was just a nostalgic, reflective dream – throughout the whole weekend I felt this verge-of-tears feeling as all of these memories just started coming back. There was something quite reverent about it too though, I really felt like I had to cherish each memory and savour it because they’re what my life is built from. I was remembering so many things: the excitement as we drove up the road to my Granda’s house; the smarties and milky buttons we would eat whilst reading our magazine that Granda had gotten us; riding in Granda’s wheelbarrow in the front yard; Granda marking our heights against the wooden post in the back garden… And that was just from coming home to my Granda’s house. I found all of these other memories tucked in between slices of bread fed to the ducks at the duck pond; or just sparked by other memories that had come before. I felt almost an anxiety to try and retain all of these precious memories – so, I decided to write them all down in my journal. There is nothing as satisfying as seeing little bubbles of your life down on paper.