the art of documenting.

on personal archive ✍🏼

I believe there’s a discipline to documenting one’s life. Not the discipline of perfect curation for public consumption, but the private discipline of saving evidence of who you were, so you can understand who you’re becoming.

I didn’t grow up with thousands of photos or videos of my childhood. I was born in Hanoi, Vietnam, during a time when the country was still recovering from and rebuilding after the war. Resources were limited. My parents did what they could. And yet, the handful of photos and videos they managed to keep are among the most precious things I own—because those fragments are my first archive.

They are how I see my childhood through my parents’ eyes. They are proof that I existed in a particular time and place. They remind me of milestones I reached, obstacles I overcame, and the softness of moments I’ve almost forgotten.

When I’m home, I love to sit with my grandmother and go through those old photos. It’s our ritual. She tells me stories of her work, her youth, and the people she loved. And in those moments, I realize that an archive is not simply about memory. It’s about connection.

It’s how we trace the threads between generations. It’s how we place ourselves in the story of our family, our culture, our world. An archive isn’t just a collection of objects. It’s a map of our history. It shows:

• How our tastes evolve.

• How our style sharpens.

• How our beliefs shift.

• How we love.

• How we move through seasons of certainty and seasons of searching.

When I look back through my journals, my letters, my photos, I’m not indulging in nostalgia. I’m studying the arc of my own transformation. I’m learning how the little girl born in Hanoi has grown into the woman I am today—and into the woman I’m still becoming.

This is why I believe documenting your life is not vanity—it’s vision. Because taste is not random, it’s built from memory. And style is not just instinct. It’s history, curated. Icons don’t simply appear. They emerge from years of observation, selection, and deliberate documentation. We live in a time obsessed with sharing. But here’s what I’ve learned: your archive is not for the world—it’s for you.

• It’s there for you to understand yourself.

• It’s there for you to study your past.

• It’s there to remind you who you were.

• It’s there to show you how far you’ve come.

• It’s there to guide you into who you’re becoming.

Because time moves fast. Trends fade. Public opinion shifts. But your archive remains—a private vault of your own becoming.

This is why I take photographs, why I keep letters, why I journal, why I believe in video—not just as content, but as a living record, because video captures not only how I look, but how I think, how I move, how I speak. Years from now, I want to look back and watch the woman I was. To remember what mattered to me, what I believed, and how my confidence grew. That, too, is history. That, too, belongs in my archive.

So here’s what’s coming from my heart to you:

• Document everything that feels true to you.

• Journal your days.

• Take photos of what moves you.

• Film yourself speaking your truth or write.

• Record voice notes.

• Create your own playlists.

• Save letters, tickets, bills, images—anything that reminds you of who you are in this moment.

Keep more than you share. Return to your archive often, not for vanity, but for clarity, because your archive is not just a record of your past; it's a reflection of your present. It’s the clearest mirror of who you’re becoming. And for that alone, it deserves to be kept.

I hope you have a wonderful time, enjoy your summer, and be well!

Love,

JV