Category: Personal Notes

As I was tidying up my home, I came across a bundle of papers I’ve kept for a long time—my own little secrets. This isn’t just a collection of travel scraps; it’s a story about the “fragments of cities” I’ve personally curated from around the world.

In my younger days, I started doing this simply because I wanted to immortalize the emotions of my travels. Maps, tickets, leaflets, and even receipts—I carefully selected pieces with striking text, photography, illustration, and color. Even when my bag grew heavy, I carried them with me, thinking, “One day, I’ll frame these like works of art.”

While some collect magnets or postcards, I have always been drawn to printed matter with exceptional layouts that capture a city’s unique identity. These bundles are far from mere waste; they are preserved specimens of a time and place—the “Visual DNA” of my journey.

1. Private Curation

Items bought from famous souvenir shops can be owned by anyone. However, a business card from a nameless cafe I stumbled upon, or a leaflet picked up from a quiet corner of a museum, is a record of a path only I have walked. Giving meaning to these bits of paper destined for the bin and “lugging” them back home is, in itself, an intense expression of my love for travel.

2. A Path Beyond Google Maps

Of course, Google Maps is a savior today. But my memories are filled with moments of unfolding large paper maps from the station, looking every bit the tourist. Before bed, I would meticulously plan the next day’s route—marking subway exits, nearby restaurants, and anticipated paths. Yet, the unfamiliar streets always offered a different direction than planned. On those “planned maps,” the fleeting moments of a completed journey are vividly recorded where intention met serendipity.

3. The Aesthetics of Ephemera

The moment these bits of paper enter a collector’s hands, they become historical records of the “atmosphere of an era.” London’s heavy typography, Berlin’s raw textures, and Tokyo’s delicate illustrations are the most condensed media reflecting each city’s aesthetic values.

4. Sensory Triggers

While photos record scenery, paper records “materiality.”

• Touch: The thick texture of a catalog or the thin rustle of a receipt.
• Sight: The unique font arrangements and color palettes specific to that city.
• Traces of Time: The faded hues embrace the years that have passed since the trip, summoning memories in three dimensions.

5. The Completion of a ‘Graphic Journey’

Cities like London, Berlin, and Tokyo have distinct design languages. Even a simple shop card embodies the city’s unique layout and color logic. Collecting these is a desire to possess the inspiration felt on-site in a physical form. Years later, simply unfolding them recharges my design sensibilities—an “armchair journey” that begins all over again.

Strangely enough, even without photos or videos, I see myself in a single leaflet or a business card. I truly love that past version of me—the one who couldn’t bear to throw these heavy things away and stubbornly packed them into a suitcase.

If you enjoyed this ‘Private Curation’ of paper, you might also like my story about collecting vintage plates from distant cities.

[Fragments of Travel: My Journey in Teapots and Plates] ➔ ➔

The Rituals of Remembering: A Private Autobiography

Everyone has their own ritual for remembering. For instance, some capture the essence of a city through scents, while others collect coffee cups from every corner of the globe. In fact, listening to these personal stories is a joy in itself. Ultimately, I have come to realize that my collection of objects is actually a personal travel autobiography. These items are no longer just souvenirs; they are ‘Personal Relics’ that preserve one’s footsteps and fleeting moments of the past.

Collectively, they form a private autobiography that only the owner can truly decipher. I often find myself dreaming of weaving these fragmented stories together into a book, capturing the unspoken history of a life traveled. Each object on my shelf is not just an item, but a living chapter of my existence.

The Unfinished Longing and the Flea Market Soul

Travel itineraries always feel fleeting. Consequently, they leave behind a persistent sense of unfinished longing. Even after returning home, I find myself suspended in those moments, flipping through digital galleries. Most people settle for simple trinkets like fridge magnets, which often feel like small, metallic regrets.

However, I eventually realized that my personal taste had quietly gathered itself through a different path. I have always believed that flea markets offer the most intimate glimpse into the soul of local life. Somewhere along those dusty aisles, my keepsakes began to take the shape of well-loved glass dishes and weathered teapots.

The Aesthetics of Culture: Mirroring the World

This narrative begins with the bronze teapots I unearthed at London’s Portobello Road Market. These pieces were chosen not merely for their aesthetic appeal, but because they embody the quintessential British culture. Their weight seems to hold the stillness of a foggy afternoon, capturing the very essence of London.

While the types of objects I collect—teapots and plates—remain consistent, their designs, colors, and patterns are subtly different. Each one mirrors the unique atmosphere of the country I discovered. Instead of seeking a simple souvenir, I looked for items that shared a soul with their surroundings.

For instance, the plates from Boxhagener Platz Flohmarkt in Berlin reflected a quiet, orderly life through their disciplined forms. In contrast, the treasures I found at Barcelona’s Els Encants, after circling its vast, mirrored expanse, carried the vibrant energy of the Spanish sun. These objects are the physical manifestations of the cultures I have walked through.

Beyond Objects: A Continuous Journey

Ultimately, these objects have transcended their identity as mere decor. They possess the power to vividly summon the weather of a specific day, the frantic energy of a market, and the very scent of the air in a foreign land. They are the living breath of my travels. By surrounding myself with these “chapters,” I turn my daily routine into a continuous journey. My home is no longer just a house; it is a living book of where I have been.

If you are planning to visit Seoul, you might discover your own travel relics here.

[Dongmyo Flea Market] ➔ ➔

As seen in the photo above, the Turbo Moka features a distinct ‘Helical Spiral’ base design, quite different from traditional Moka pots. This gear-like pattern is the core technology that maximizes heat efficiency and drastically reduces brewing time.

Every morning, I reach for my old partner, the Bialetti Moka Express. Recently, a new product called the Turbo Moka caught my eye, and it made me think about how much of our lives are shaped by speed.

Read More: Where Design Meets Efficiency — The Turbo Moka ➔ ➔

A Swan on the Water

The Turbo Moka reminds me of a graceful swan. On the surface, it keeps the familiar eight-sided silhouette first introduced in 1933. Beneath it, a turbine—almost like a jet engine—quietly works to shorten the wait.
It’s a fascinating blend of Italian heritage and Korea’s fast-paced palli-palli spirit. Clever, efficient, and thoughtfully designed—just not quite how I like to begin my day.

Where Speed Feels Right—and Where It Doesn’t

Korea is one of the fastest countries in the world, and I genuinely admire that. When it comes to work, I rely on that speed. It helps me focus, decide, and move forward without hesitation.

But coffee is different.

In cafés and restaurants, I often find myself drawn to slower moments—the kind of unhurried atmosphere I usually experience while traveling abroad. As everything around us accelerates, these small pauses begin to feel more valuable.

So during coffee time, I choose a different rhythm. Instead of instant coffee or 30-second capsules, I follow a more traditional European style: grinding beans, filling the chamber, waiting by the stove.

Coffee is not a task I want to finish. It’s a moment I want to inhabit.

The Value of Taking a Little Longer

For adults, coffee is rarely just about caffeine.

In the morning, it’s a gentle way to wake the senses.
In the afternoon, it’s a brief chance to breathe between obligations.

Yes, cleaning aluminum requires care, and manual brewing takes patience. But I’ve grown fond of this kind of effort. There’s a quiet satisfaction in doing something slowly, with intention—a small, personal luxury that doesn’t announce itself.

Choosing Slowness, On Purpose

The Turbo Moka is an impressive piece of innovation. It respects tradition while making room for speed, and for many people, that balance is exactly right.

For me, though, slow extraction is the only low-speed zone I allow myself each day. It’s not about rejecting efficiency. It’s about choosing where speed belongs—and where it doesn’t.

So how fast was your coffee today?
Did it rush you, or did it wait for you? Sometimes, being slow isn’t falling behind.
It’s simply making space for yourself.