Little travel souvenirs are my time machines. Magnets, postcards, bookmarks—they all have their charm. But my all-time favorite is Snow globes.
There’s something magical about them. Unlike flat cards where everything is fixed, a snow globe is multi dimensional. It changes with every shake. No two are quite the same—some are delicate, some clunky; some filled with glitter, others with soft white snow. The quality varies, the designs always a surprise. There’s a little fun, a small gamble, in picking the perfect one.
Every time I shake a globe, I don’t just see the miniature version of a city—I feel it. The moment I bought it comes rushing back. Maybe it was a freezing day, and I ducked into a souvenir shop to escape the wind. Maybe that very snow globe reminded me of the actual snow falling outside, which then led me to buy those beautiful, well-made boots I ended up loving for years.
It’s funny how one tiny item can start a whole train of thought. A chain reaction of memories. A sense of place, of self, of time. It grounds me in a world that often feels like a shallow whirlwind.
If I were richer, I would collect singing music boxes too—orgels, the kind that play a delicate tune when opened. Adding sound would bring another dimension to the memory. But for now, the silent dance of snow inside a globe is enough.
With these memories, the stay may be short, but the happiness can linger a little longer.
Sometimes, late at night, I shake a few and watch them settle one by one.
The world slows down. The memories swirl. The traveler in me feels quietly seen.
Because in every snow globe, I see two things: a city I loved (or barely survived)—and a version of me who was brave enough to go.
A journey in ink 
You must be logged in to post a comment.