Dear Journal, Today was one of those afternoons that felt both nostalgic and full of possibility. Mama and I were sitting together in the living room, flipping through the photo albums and chatting about all the adventures I’ve had this year. Every picture seemed to spark a new story, and before long, I was sharing tales of the people I’ve met along the way—Aimee with her fearless spirit, Betty and her endless wisdom, and so many others who’ve left their mark on my journey. Mama listened, smiling as she traced the edges of a photo with her finger. “You know,” she said, “we talk so much about our family tree, but you’ve been out there growing your own branches this year.” Her words stayed with me. Later, as we kept talking, she suggested the idea to craft my own version of a family tree—not one based on ancestry, but on connection. “It’s your story,” Mama said, pulling out some blank paper. “Why not start drawing it out?” We spread everything out on the table: photos, little mementos I’d brought back from my travels, and scraps of paper where I’d scribbled down memories. It felt like piecing together a map of my year. Aimee’s name went at the top of one branch, with a photo of us laughing in the park. Betty had her own branch, along with a sketch of one of her adorable bunnies. Even small moments, like a postcard from a shopkeeper who made me laugh in a distant town, found their place on this growing tree. Mama helped me fill out the branches, filling the spaces between with little drawings of flowers, stars, and moments that stood out. As we worked, we laughed about how some of the people I’ve met have felt like long-lost family, and others have been fleeting but unforgettable encounters. By the end of the day, my tree wasn’t finished—it’s still growing, just like I am—but it already felt so full of life. Mama was right: this isn’t just about where I come from. It’s about where I’ve been, who I’ve met, and the stories that have shaped me along the way. Catch you later,Alex
