There is a unique kind of weight attached to the things we create. Sometimes, an object holds the joy of a finished journey. Other times, it carries the quiet, lingering echo of a path we never quite walked down. When we look back at our workshop archives from 2016, we find a lot of beginnings. We were experimenting heavily back then. We wanted to understand the full potential of our materials, testing how thick leather would bend and how different bindings would hold up against the rigors of travel.
That year, we set our sights on creating our very first travel journal. We wanted to craft something rugged, something that could be thrown into a backpack and carried across continents. The process always begins with the raw material itself.
We remember unrolling this massive hide of brown leather onto the white tile floor of our workspace. It was vast and full of natural imperfections, carrying the earthy, rich scent that every leather worker knows by heart. Looking at an uncut hide is like staring at a blank map. You have to decide where to make the first cut. You have to envision the final shape before the blade even touches the surface.
This particular project was supposed to be a collaboration. We had connected with a fellow maker named Tria Nuraini, who ran a beautiful brand called Wewet Project. We were excited. There is a special kind of energy that sparks when two creative minds decide to build something together. We spent time discussing the feel of the journal, the texture of the paper, and the rustic aesthetic that would appeal to wanderers and writers alike.
To celebrate this upcoming partnership, we created a physical prototype. We cut the leather from that very hide on the floor. We chose a delicate, floral-patterned paper for the inserts to contrast with the rugged exterior. And, as a gesture of our shared vision, we carefully hand-stamped Tria’s name onto a small leather tag.
We tied the tag onto the elastic binding with a simple black string. It looked perfect. It felt like the tangible beginning of a wonderful story. We photographed the prototype right there on a green table, capturing the warm light hitting the stamped letters. The notebook was ready.
But life, much like business, rarely follows a predictable script. Suddenly, the communication stopped. Tria became entirely unreachable. Days turned into weeks, and the silence stretched on. We sent messages and waited, hoping to hear back so we could finally launch the product we had dreamed up together.
Behind the scenes, the reality of running a young business was pressing down on us. Hibrkraft was still finding its footing. The market moves fast, and the pressure to release new products to keep the workshop alive was immense. We could not afford to wait indefinitely. We had to make a very difficult, practical decision.
We chose to pivot. We found another brand to collaborate with, redesigned certain elements, and launched our version of the travel journal without Wewet Project. The launch was successful, and it helped our workshop grow, but a quiet sense of guilt has always lingered around that specific decision. We had to prioritize our survival, but it meant leaving a promising connection behind in the dark.
Looking at these photographs today brings back a wave of complicated nostalgia. This prototype, with its rich brown cover and the name TRIA stamped proudly on the front, serves as a physical reminder of the unseen struggles behind every brand. It reminds us that not every custom notebook we craft ends up where we originally intended.
Objects carry the memories we weave into them. This small, rustic journal is a ghost of 2016. It is a tribute to Tria, to the Wewet Project, and to a fleeting moment of shared inspiration. We do not know where Tria is today, nor do we know why the silence fell. But we keep these photos to honor the honest, messy, and sometimes heartbreaking reality of the creative journey. Wherever she is, we hope she is still making beautiful things, and we hope she knows that her name is still remembered fondly within the history of our workshop.
