Put It on a Table

One object that holds a special place in my heart is my very own journal. When I look at my journal I think about all those times that I sat down and started writing. I start to feel every emotion that was pouring out onto blank pages. I have a sudden urge to open the journal and start reading every line I wrote, even though I always think I didn’t write well. I also remember all of the past experiences I wrote about, whether they are good or bad. I start to realize that every experience that is written down in that journal has made me the person I am today. It’s as if the journal really defines me, and if one were to read it they would know who I am and how I think. Some things that someone would find out about me are 1) I make bad choices in picking boyfriends, 2) I have a fear of the unknown, and 3) I believe in something bigger than mankind. When I stare at my black leather journal, I want to untie it and grab a pen. I know that my journal is my accomplishment.
My five senses; sight, scent, sound, taste, and touch. As I said before, the sight of my journal triggers so many emotions I can’t even keep count. As soon as I see the journal I have so many urges that I sometimes can’t make my next move. I start to hesitate because I don’t know what to write about next. My journal also has a great connection with scent. It’s odd, but I actually smell my journal. This is one of the reasons why I bought a leather cover. I love the smell of fresh leather and it actually helps me focus on my writing. The pages also have a distinct smell of an old library filled with dust. These scents are always apparent while I write, and it’s one of my favorite things about writing. It does trigger a sense of creativity and imagination for me. The only sound I ever hear from my journal, as cliché as it may seem, is the sound of turning a page. It helps me continue writing, and it makes me feel like writer’s block is so far away every time I turn the page. Taste is one of my senses that are not so clear when it comes to my journal. First off, I don’t lick my journal like a dog to see what leather would taste like (thank god for that). However, one of the things that I have to do while writing in my journal is smoke a cigarette. I’m not saying that cigarettes have a great taste, but it does let my mind wander off into imagination land. It allows my thoughts to develop, and my ability to think of perfect words for a single thought begins to increase. Touch is the most important concept when it comes to writing. I write creatively, so my senses all have to be ready for whatever comes their way. However, touch is what I really write about. I need to be able to explain each texture I feel while I write, otherwise my true thoughts aren’t written. This is another reason why I chose a leather cover for my journal. The touch is soft and relieves stress for me. I need to be able to write on something soft in order for me to be comfortable while writing.
There are definite connections with the way I feel about my journal and my five senses that I use while writing. It’s very obvious as to why I have sudden urges while looking at my journal. It’s also obvious why there are so many emotions connected to my journal. All of my senses are triggered while looking at my journal, or writing in my journal, or even reading my journal. I have so many emotions attached to my journal that it does trigger all of my senses. When I tried this exercise with something that I don’t have an emotional connection with, my sunglasses, I could not connect my five senses to the object. It didn’t trigger any emotions, and I think it’s because I never used my own creativity to design it. I helped design my own journal into something that can be a part of me. I purchased my sunglasses because I thought they looked good on me. I never helped create anything with this object, and for that reason I never had an emotional attachment to it. Because my journal is designed for me, I can release all of my emotions in it. Because my sunglasses were designed for the everyday woman, it was just an object.