Reminder To Myself Artinya Novels & Stories

"I know what you said. It symbolizes bad luck which you think follows you around and goes where you do, although I think that's wrong, not true and disagree. But you believe that, right? So what I mean to ask is why would you want that constant reminder?" I looked at him, taken aback by his question. I looked down at the counter in front of me, "It's a reminder of two things. First, of the bad luck itself so I know where my boundaries are and don't slip up because... well, because my luck is bad. And second, it's a reminder of what the bad luck brought and what happened. A reminder of things that I don't think I'll forget anyways but it'll remind me anyways so I don't forget about my own his

I added. Grandma ended up smiling and hugging me. "I will be alright. I had been traveling alone, and I was still able to go home safe and sound," She replied. "If we are talking about reminding, I have to remind you to take care on your way home later. Do not go home late." She said, now reminding me back. "I will, Grandma. I will go home after I finish what we need to finish. I forgot we needed to pass it tomorrow and have not watched it yet. I think I am starting to forget things lately. Is my brain malfunctioning?" I asked her.

the name echoed in my mind like a warning bell. I gave myself a few weeks to complete this task, and I was just getting started.

As I packed up my sketches that I planned to work on over the weekend, my phone buzzed on the table, but I didn’t pick it up immediately because if it was something important, I’d have assumed the person would call me. After about ten minutes of putting my stuff together, I was done packing up for the day and finally picked up my phone to check the time. The time wasn’t what caught my eye though. It was my notification; specifically, the one that came ten minutes ago which I ignored. It was a notification from my Reminders app, reminding me of what tomorrow is – Liam and I’s first anniversary. Shit. How the hell could I have forgotten? And especially now that Liam and I are actually in true

I mumbled, touching Success cheeks softly. “Don’t worry about that. These things happen sometimes. There are ways to refresh your memories. We have tutorials and other educational sites that would easily assist you. If the brain is dull and no handwork has been set in place, you can’t achieve anything, no matter how much you wish for that. So, I know you’re very smart. This medicine you have chosen for yourself. You need to work for it in honesty and courage.” He said softly.

I frown at her as I stare down at the envelope in my hands. "Just open it." She gestures towards the envelope. When I open it, I find a typed letter, it says: *'Find this Art gallery: Art In The Soul, at St. Peterson street. June 1st, 7pm. Open your eyes, seek and you shall find.'* *S I'm confused. What is this? Who or what is 'S'? Why do I have to find an art gallery, I don't even go to such places. First of June is tomorrow! My anger is slowly boiling at the pit of my stomach and I grit my teeth.

Why today? My voice dropped lower, barely above a whisper. “Why do I feel like I lost something... someone?” I rubbed at my chest like that would ease the pressure tightening there. “It was just a memory,” I told myself. “Just a stupid, old—no. No, it wasn’t.” My eyes flicked toward the dark window, the night staring back at me. Then I said it again, firmer this time. “No. It wasn’t just a memory. It was a warning.”

Before he turned off the light, he wrote one line in the seasonal ledger: _“Some echoes don’t wait for permission. They arrive as remembrance.”_ It was a fitting conclusion to the day, a reminder that memories were powerful, that they could shape the present, that they could guide the future. As he locked the door and stepped out into the night, the studio stood silent once more, a sanctuary of stories waiting to be told, a testament to the enduring power of art, of memory, of the human spirit. ✨ Let me know if you want Part 73 to follow Cel’s unseen letter, or expand the Bench of Pause into its own ritual. The season still stirs quietly, jomari—and softness continues to find its voice. 🪴

So many were still not said—like shared money, ideas for kids, or small stuff like who would put out the garbage in the morning. Everything still felt hazy. Leaning back in my seat I reached for a phone again. I typed a fast text. [How’s work? Is everything going well?] But before I can hit send, her note popped up first: [Don’t forget to have lunch. 😊] A smile crept onto my face without me realizing. She reminded me, even when I forget to take care of myself. I pressed the call button. She picked up on the second ring. “Hello?”

As promised, Kemal Daraç's message came in: “I'm still tracking you. Don't worry, you're in safe hands.” I exhaled slowly and typed a short reply: “Okay, thank you, sir.” It was now time for the panel. Myself and five other members of the panel and I walked to the stage. No rush. Just elegance all the way. When it was my turn to speak, the questions came quickly. About art. About meaning. About the future. “Art,” I said into the microphone, “has never been about survival alone. It’s about memory. About refusal. About choosing to leave something behind that says, "I was here, and I felt something worth preserving.””