In my garage live three boxes of what most would call trash—faded receipts, old birthday cards, deflated balloons, and a paper crane folded from a school musical program. These items, dating back to my middle school years, have traveled with me across oceans, and homes, quietly chronicling my journey. For years, I’ve continued collecting, and everything has sat untouched, until I discovered a way to give them life: junk journaling.

Junk journaling is the art of saving things that would normally be thrown away and turning them into collages. It’s a simple concept, but one that is deeply personal and even vulnerable. Instead of my scraps of junk sitting in boxes, I’ve been gluing them in between the pages of my new pink journal. Each page has become a time capsule, layered with colors, textures and memories.

My first spread is my 21st birthday. I used tissue paper from my gifts and wrappers, cut out the designs on birthday cards, and saved a ticket stub from the night before. Besides a short recap of the day, there is no writing—no account of what I ate, who I saw, or how it felt. The junk is not explained, but I know what it represents.

There is something magical about flipping through memories with your fingertips. The physical objects hold much more weight than any of the photos taken on my phone that day. A ribbon reminds me of the gold necklace I got from my family in Brazil, and the purple roses remind me of the card I got from my grandparents. These fragments capture the feeling of the day in a way words and digital photos cannot.

Journaling is not new to me; as a writer, I have an obligatory collection of half-empty journals collecting dust on my bookshelf. I have tried bullet journaling, daily journaling, visual journaling, and a mix of all three, but I’ve always been intimidated by the perfect spreads on social media. Every page had to be neat, unique, and aesthetic.

Junk journaling feels different. It is freeing to stick things on the page and not worry about perfection. Each piece has its own character—smudges, crinkles and all—and those imperfections feel authentic.

The junk in junk journaling is more than just trash. These ephemeral items—ticket stubs, cards, and stickers—may seem insignificant, but they tell a story that words never could. A wristband reminds me of a cold night spent ice-skating with my boyfriend, and a postcard with a message written to myself will evoke memories of that day at the museum years into the future. These objects are small, but their meaning is immeasurable.

Some ephemera even become collectibles, with rare vintage pieces selling for hundreds of dollars. Mine, however, are priceless in a different way. They are little pieces of my life—tangible, flawed, and real.

Junk journaling isn’t the latest fad; this practice dates back to Victorian times, where people preserved letters, flowers, and locks of hair in scrapbooks. As the number of printed items grew and became more accessible to the middle classes, so did the popularity of scrapbooking. To Victorians, scrapbooking was a way to preserve their legacies and experiences. Their scrapbooks captured fleeting moments in a physical form, just as junk journaling does today.

The act of collecting and preserving has changed how I experience life. I now look at every scrap of paper that comes my way with appreciation, imagining how they could tell a story. A receipt isn’t just a receipt anymore—it’s a record of where I was and what I was doing.

Junk journaling has also made me more intentional. As I go through the junk of my days, I reflect on what truly matters. What do I want to remember? What do I want to leave behind? It’s a process of curating memories, not just collecting things. There’s a meditative quality to it. Sitting down with my journal, scissors, and glue has become a way to slow down and be present. I can be as creative as I want, arranging and rearranging until I’m satisfied. Each spread is a celebration of small moments that make up a life, my life.

The beauty of junk journaling is that it’s accessible to everyone. You don’t need expensive supplies, good handwriting, or artistic skill. All you need is to see value in what others might discard. There is something profoundly human about the need to hold onto memories. In an era where so much of our lives exist in a digital world, junk journaling brings those memories back into the physical world, each page telling a story that feels alive in your hands.