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It felt strange knowing today is the last day of this journal. Not emotional or anything, just… different. I got used to pausing and noticing small things these past few days, and honestly, I kind of liked it.

This morning was normal — nothing fancy. I had breakfast without checking my phone (for once), and it actually felt peaceful. Later, I cleaned out my shelf, found some old drawings, and laughed at how dramatic I used to be. In a good way, though.

The rest of the day passed quietly. I didn’t do much, but I also didn’t feel bored. It’s like once you start paying attention, even doing nothing feels like something.

I’m not going to act like this journal changed my life, but it did make me think. A little more. And that’s enough for now.

This is Day 5 — not the end. Just closing a small chapter!

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A day surrounded with refreshment and sweetness.

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Today wasn’t loud or exciting — but it had a quiet rhythm, like a song with no chorus. If I had to describe it, it would be a smoothie. Not one perfect flavor, but a strange mix that somehow worked together.

1 cup of stillness- The morning moved slowly. I stayed in bed longer than I should have, just listening to the ceiling fan. It was one of those silences that wasn’t empty, just peaceful.

2 spoons of irritation — Lunch was one of those “everyone’s together, but no one’s present” moments. All of us at the table, heads bent into our plates, not talking. My brother with his irritating cries, because of his hunger; he was hangry. That annoyed me more than anything.

A scoop of nostalgia — I found a notebook from years ago while cleaning my drawer. The pages were messy — doodles in the margins, wet corners, a dried flower pressed between two thoughts I once had. I didn’t remember writing most of it, but it felt like reading an old version of myself.

A dash of joy — I hummed music while folding laundry, letting the songs do what they always do — pull me into memories I didn’t ask for. There’s something comforting about that.

One sprinkle of restlessness — The evening had a weird weight. I kept replaying a conversation from last week — something someone said, and how I didn’t respond the way I wanted to. It clung to my thoughts like aftertaste.

All of that — the stillness, the joy, the mess, the mild frustration — blended into a day that wasn’t remarkable, but it was real.
A bittersweet blend. Not my favourite flavour, but not one I’d throw away either.

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A day filled with tranquility and calmness

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Today was definitely sage green. Calm. A little sleepy. Nothing extraordinary happened — but everything felt slow and soft, like the world had dialed its volume down.

I spent most of my afternoon under the fan, working on my DIY book: Wreck This Journal. My hands were covered in smudges, glue, and what can only be described as a joyful mess. Yes, it’s literally a book designed to be destroyed — and somehow, that made me feel more put together. Weird? Maybe. But tearing pages, scribbling like a rebel, and staining the corners made me feel... free. Like my thoughts could breathe.

The sage green surrounded me — in the swaying leaves, in the soft light slipping through the trees, in the way the garden seemed to breathe with me.

Even lunch joined the color theme: spinach paratha with mint chutney, warm and slightly spicy. In the evening, I walked barefoot on grass that tickled like tiny whispers. Nothing dramatic happened. No loudness, no rush — but the silence sang.

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Today, I looked at my house as if I didn’t live here. Not as a stranger, exactly — more like someone returning after a long trip.
The living room was brighter than I remembered, the sunlight stretching lazily across the walls. The walls were not just walls; they held whispers — faded pencil marks from when I was smaller, tiny cracks near the switchboard like veins on skin.

Dadi’s prayer corner smelled of agarbatti and calm. The hallway hummed with quiet echoes of slippers, distant calls, the fan’s rhythm — all things I hear every day but never listen to.

Even my room felt like a reflection I hadn’t fully studied: books stacked not just by genre, but by emotional phases. A birthday card, gifted to me tucked behind the lamp. My old school badge still stuck on the soft board.

Today felt like I’d been handed new eyes. And honestly, I liked what they saw.

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The day when the sense of freedom appeared!

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Today I woke up with the sunlight dripping through the curtains like warm honey. No alarms, no rush —just a slow yawn and the feeling of not being owned by the clock. My bed felt like a cloud that had hugged me all night. Instead of coming out of it, I floated with calmness.

I had Nutella pancakes — my mom’s specialty — while humming nonsense tunes. The house wasn’t quiet, but it was alive. It felt like the world was trying to show me the small, overlooked wonders of life: Dadi making garma-garam chai for Dadu, Dad watching debaters fight like warriors on the news, and the maid multitasking — laundry in one hand, marble floor shining beneath her.

My brain kept asking: Why does this noisy, busy atmosphere feel so comforting?
Maybe I needed this. Maybe freedom isn’t always soft — maybe it’s loud, golden, and full of heartbeat.