My Notes app is a strange little world where both my therapist and my grocery list peacefully coexist. One side of it is pure drama, with long paragraphs about how I feel disconnected from myself, a love confession I’ll (probably) never send, and random thoughts like “maybe I’m the problem, but also maybe I’m not.” The other side? A list that just says: “toothpaste, moisturizer, batteries.”
It’s chaos. A very beautiful and unhinged chaos.
There’s a note from a month ago titled “Things I wish I could say.” It’s raw and messy, filled with half-sentences, overthinking, and feelings I outgrew but can’t quite get myself to delete. Right under it, a note called “College To-Do” with bullets that just say “submit group project,” “email sales prof,” and “don’t cry.”
… Let’s just call that balance.
I scroll through my Notes app and wonder how I can feel so much yet so little in the same two inches of screen. Some notes are poetic, or at least, I thought they were at 3 a.m. One literally says: “I’m somewhere between a Pinterest quote and a minor breakdown.” Deep, right? And right below that? “Buy shampoo.” It’s like every version of me is just hanging out in there — the philosopher, the overthinker, and the girl who forgot to buy tissues.
There’s also that one note that just says, “DO NOT TEXT HIM,” in all caps. It didn’t work, but I respect the past me for trying. Another one just has an asterisk followed by “to cry about later.” I like her priorities.
Sometimes I scroll back to older notes, and it’s like finding tiny fossils of my former selves. A list of affirmations from a rough week. A quote I copied because it felt like it understood me better than I understood myself. A recipe I never cooked. A study plan I definitely didn’t follow.
My Notes app isn’t just a digital space, it’s the intersection of “self-my growth era” and “remember to submit the assignment.” And honestly, there’s something comforting about that. Life is that mix of big feelings and boring errands, deep thoughts, and remembering to buy Maggi.
I think that’s why I can never bring myself to clean it up. Every random, embarrassing, sentimental note tells a story, even the one that just says “Start a podcast???” (I did not). The Notes app is the only place that gets the duality of being human: wanting to fix your life while also Googling “easy breakfast ideas.” It holds heartbreak and homework in the same breath.
If someone ever opened it, they might think I’m falling apart, and maybe I am, but at least I won’t forget to buy cheese. And perhaps, that’s precisely what it means to be human right now, to live in this constant duality of deep emotion and daily survival. In the end, my Notes app isn’t just a notes app. It’s a timeline. A collection of my tiny selves. A museum of things I once thought, felt, or needed to buy. It’s everything and nothing at the same time.