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My grandmother probably never understood how much the journal meant to me when she got it. It wasn’t meant to be a gift for a special occasion. It wasn’t even my birthday. We were just at a barbershop, waiting for her to get called on for her hair cut. I, ten-years-old at the time, kept eyeing the journal that was in the glass counter, filled with other random objects for sale. She noticed.

It didn’t look like any cheap 50-paged journal that you could buy at a 99cent store with a small, breakable lock. This one in particular had the lock between the covers, which kept all the pages sealed together. It also had more than enough pages that were also perfumed and thick enough to prevent accidental tears. Finally, the cover was unique. It had a blue frame with a cover image of two women sitting by the meadows. It looked very peaceful.

My grandmother looked closer at it and began to ask me me about the journal in Spanish. ¿Qué es eso? ¿Un libro? “What is that? A book?”

I blushed as I told her it was a journal. She seemed quite amused to see me try to hide any desire to have it. She asked me what it was for and I explained to her that it was for having written thoughts down. I told her that it is a way that people can express themselves on paper instead of having feelings bottled in. She took a moment before she responded.

¿Lo quieres? “Do you want it?” She asked. I slightly nodded my head, out of embarrassment. My parents would never have approved having anyone besides them buy me something more than a couple of dollars without it being a special occasion like a birthday or Christmas.

Debes escribir en ella todos los dias. Solo asi, te lo compro. “You must write in her every day. Only then will I buy it for you.” She seemed quite serious but I was already getting quite excited inside my mind because for the first time, I will have a journal that has better quality than the ones that I would carry before from the discount stores. I nodded multiple times and wore a huge smile while my grandmother started to ask for it.

I had spent the next 30 minutes opening and closing the lock, smelling the pages, and thinking of ways to start my journal while my grandmother got her haircut. I had also started to think more about my grandmother and the meaning the journal would now have just because she bought it for me.

On our walk back home, she spoke to me on how much she loved me. She went on to explain that at first she did not think she would buy it for me because she did not have much money to spend on things besides what is needed. However, she wanted me to be happy and have something to remind me of her so she decided the journal would do. I did feel a bit guilty having her spend money on me, but at the same time, I realized just how underappreciated my grandmother was by my whole family. Therefore, for my first journal entry, I decided to start with thanking my grandmother and appreciating her. She couldn’t read it, since it was a journal after all but I made sure that I showed just how much I appreciated her in person.

Years later, she passed away. However, I still write on journals and remember of my first one every single time my pen touches the paper. Every time I fill out all the pages of a journal, I feel accomplished and every time I get a new journal to start with, I begin to feel just as excited as the little girl did inside the barbershop with her grandmother.