There are people who carry umbrellas because it might rain.
There are people who carry power banks because their phones might die.
And then there are people like me.
I carry a magenta Sharpie because of Verona.
A couple of years ago, my daughters an I stood in Juliet’s courtyard among thousands of visitors.
Like everyone else, we wanted to leave our mark.
Not a declaration of eternal love.
Not a profound quotation.
Just our initials.
Unfortunately, the only writing instrument available at the time was a felt-tip pen with a fine nib.
It worked…
…in the same way whispering works at a rock concert.
Our tiny initials disappeared into a wall already covered with decades of names, hearts, and promises.
Somewhere on that wall is evidence that we were there.
I just couldn’t tell you where.
I remember thinking:
“If only I had a proper marker.”
That thought followed me all the way back to Malaysia.
So I bought one.
Not black.
Magenta.
Because if one is going to commit a minor act of tourist sentimentality, one may as well do it in a colour that refuses to blend politely into the background.
Ever since then, this Sharpie has travelled with me…
…although it has never been asked to write on another famous wall.
Which, if we’re being honest, is probably for the best.
And yet, every time I see it, I am reminded of Verona.
Not because our initials were particularly memorable.
But because not all souvenirs are things you buy.
Sometimes they’re habits you acquire after missing a moment.