Just when you think that there is nothing more versatile than pasta, there's bullet journal. A combination of letterings, doodles, washi tapes, colour-coded weekly spread in one tiny notebook; bullet journal is probably the most artistic productivity tool out there. Everybody talks about it, they rave about its benefits and how they can be a powerful tool for your mental health. So naturally, after hearing about the bullet journal hype, I got myself a notebook and a nice pen and decided to start bullet journaling. But just like everything in life, nothing really comes easy. Get this: I write bad cursive and I am terrible at drawing.
Growing up in an Asian household, I could probably count by fingers the number of times my parents explicitly said "I love you" to me and my brother. I don't know what inter-generational thing happened in the past but they made it seem like it is a limited resource that must be saved for special occasion only. And then there were cut fruits. Cut fruits on the dining table after arguments; cut fruits brought to my room when I was doing my homework; cut fruits that I almost never get to eat now that I'm in my mid-twenties living in another city with a full-time job.