In the grand scheme of life, it is often the simplest items that become our most cherished companions. For me, its my small calendar, an unassuming yet profoundly essential part of my everyday life. This lightweight, navy-blue gem has been my constant companion, documenting not just my work schedule but the beautiful, messy, unpredictable journey of life itself.

My calendar isn't just a tool to mark dates; it's a vessel carrying my memories, my hopes, my dreams. Each page is a snapshot of my year, my life in miniature. From work meetings and deadlines to get-togethers with friends, it captures the rhythm of my days, the texture of my weeks, the color of my months. It even safeguards my secrets, holding key figures and passwords within its unassuming pages.

Small and lightweight, it's always with me, whether tucked into my bag or resting on my bedside table. It's a comfort to know that my life, in all its complexity, can be distilled into these neatly organized pages. The sight of my calendar, with its familiar navy-blue cover, is a quiet reassurance that everything is alright, a gentle reminder of the beautiful structure within life's chaos.

Touching its well-worn pages fills me with a sense of safety and happiness. The subtle textures, the slightly worn edges, the evolving nature of the pages - they all tell a tale of a life lived fully, of a journey cherished dearly.

Although it doesn't have a name, the bond I share with my calendar is akin to an intimate friendship. It knows my story better than anyone else, silently observing and meticulously recording the narrative of my life, one day at a time. If I had the chance to re-pick it, there's nothing I would change about it. Its simplicity, its reliability, its silent companionship, all are perfect to me.

There's a dream I've been nursing in my heart – a dream of receiving an engagement ring from the love of my life. When that day arrives, a new story will unfold, and my beloved calendar will be there, ready to embrace this new chapter.

There are objects in our life that transcend the realm of the material, becoming part of our emotional and spiritual being. One such object in my life is an old, golden locket, a memento of my mother, a token of love that I hold close to my heart. With its faded photographs of my brother and me, captured in the carefree days of our childhood, this locket serves as a cherished link to the past.

This locket isn't just a piece of jewelry; it's a tangible piece of my mother's presence. It whispers stories of her love, her strength, her courage. When I wear it, I feel an invisible thread connecting us, bridging the chasm of her absence. Whether during family celebrations or times when I need an extra dose of luck or courage, the locket rests against my heart, a gentle reminder of her unwavering faith in me.

The golden locket has been with me since my mother passed away. It was a part of her daily life, often seen gracing her neck, glowing against her skin. And now, it has seamlessly become a part of mine, lending me her warmth and her perfume, a scent that still lingers, evoking memories of a love so profound and unconditional.

Every time I touch the locket, it's like touching a part of her – her essence captured in this timeless piece of jewelry. It stirs within me feelings of love and gratitude, infusing me with a sense of calm and safety. It's as if through the locket, my mother continues to watch over me, guiding me through life's twists and turns.

The locket does not bear a name, yet its value in my life is immeasurable. If given a chance to alter anything about it, there’s nothing I would want to change, except perhaps, to add the pictures of my three children. What a beautiful thought it is, to add layers of generations into this piece of our family’s history.

My mother’s golden locket is a testament to the beautiful relationships that shape our lives, a symbol of love that transcends time and space. And through sharing this story, I wish to illuminate the bonds that make us human, the emotions that make us cherish our favorite stuff. Because sometimes, the things we hold in our hands carry the hearts we hold in our lives.

There’s a certain magic in heirlooms, in objects that carry with them a legacy of love and memories. One such object that I hold dear is a pastel-colored piggy bank, a beloved memento inherited from my grandma. This shiny, kitschy, slightly antiquated treasure is a token of my childhood, a vivid reminder of days spent in the warm embrace of my grandmother’s love.

The piggy bank, with its cheerful pastel hues, is more than just a container for coins. It is a symbol of my grandma’s wisdom, her teachings about the value of money, patience, and saving for the future. Every glance at this object takes me back to my childhood, to the days when I’d gaze at it longingly at grandma’s house, wishing I could touch it but fearing it would break.

The piggy bank has been a part of my life since my earliest memories. Yet it’s not just the duration that makes it special; it’s the emotions it evokes within me. Every time I see or touch it, feelings of love, nostalgia, and tradition wash over me. It’s like a portal to the past, a time machine that transports me back to the carefree and innocent days of my childhood.

While it doesn’t have a specific name, the piggy bank’s significance in my life is as precious and meaningful as any named companion. If I had the chance to change something about it, I wouldn’t alter a thing. It’s perfect in its charming, vintage appeal, an emblem of my grandma’s love and lessons, a beacon of cherished memories.

My one wish for the piggy bank is that it lasts forever, preserving the precious legacy of my grandma, telling its charming, nostalgic story to generations to come. I’d love to add a pink handbag to the mix someday – a companion to the piggy bank, a new piece in this delightful puzzle of memories.

Through sharing this story, I wish to celebrate the intangible beauty that resides within tangible objects. Sometimes, the things we love aren’t just ’stuff’; they are vessels carrying stories, holding emotions, embedding moments – painting a vibrant picture of life and love.

Our lives are often defined by the things we hold dear, and for me, it has been my faithful skateboard. For over 35 years, this wooden toy has been my conduit to a world filled with friendships, community, passion, love, commitment, travel, joy, and pain. Like a benevolent force, it has ceaselessly poured its gifts into my life.

I still remember the wave of fascination that swept over me in ’87 when skateboards started popping up in my neighborhood. It was an instant infatuation, a magnetic attraction that was more than just about its aesthetics. This wooden toy had a profound allure, one that captured my imagination and has held onto it ever since.

Over time, I have come to appreciate the reflective nature of my skateboard. It serves as a mirror, echoing my feelings and state of mind at any given moment. How I maneuver it under my feet often reveals more about me than words can express.

Despite its age and the occasional need for a new part, the essence of my skateboard remains untouched. I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world, though I would never say no to adding another, or even a hundred more skateboards to my collection. Each one carries a unique narrative, a story waiting to be unfolded and cherished.

Similarly, another rider cherishes a different kind of ride—a vibrant, cherry-red bicycle. Purchased on April 16, 2007, it has been the finest bike they have ever owned. With its effortless glide that allows for coasting downhill past other cyclists, this bike has stood the test of time, including enduring a broken part during the pandemic and a nine-month wait for a new part from China.

The decision to pick this particular bike was made in a sports store in Itäkeskus. From the two color options available, the bike's safer frame model and darker shade instantly stood out. The first ride home, spanning a distance of five kilometers, was a revelation of the bike's inherent superiority.

Much like the skateboard, the bike too serves as a symbol—of freedom. Every ride on it is a joyous expression of liberty, a celebration of movement. While it bears the scars of time, including a large dent in the fender caused during a tire change, the rider wouldn't have it any other way.

In an ideal world, they would love to have another similar bike fitted with puncture-proof winter tires. However, with no need to brave wintry conditions for work anymore, the idea remains just that—an idea. But who knows? Just like the skateboarder who wouldn't mind a hundred more boards, there might be room for one more bike in the rider's life after all.