Dear Diary…

November 25, 2011 § 5 Comments

The good old fashioned pen and a diary. Probably around 8 years old I started to write in it.  I recall that an aunt gave it as a Christmas gift, a hard bound notebook with cute cuddly bears on the front cover. The first event that was permanently absorbed by the pages was New Year’s Eve. That afternoon, December 31st my grandmother died from ovarian cancer, she was 77 years old. With the rest of the family grieving, it was a sad day to welcome the New Year. As a child, that was the first death I experienced. I really didn’t know how to show my sadness when everyone else trying to go on with their lives. I guess it wasn’t a coincidence that I got my diary that month. I tried to include every single detail as the weeks passed which helped me through. But I remembered I got conscious writing when I tried to be honest with my feelings because at that age I thought, “What if someone reads this they would know all these raw and intense details of my life and I wouldn’t want them to think that I was actually feeling and thinking this way.” Wow, so even as a child I didn’t want people to know how I truly felt because I got scared of what might think. I know some content were edited so it wouldn’t seem that deep but all were real.

Anyway, I wrote daily, then weekly and then it came to a point where, whenever I could remember. At school even up to college, it became a habit to jot down my thoughts in any of my school notebooks. There was this instance where I got a call from one of my classmates and asking me if I’m alright, and said that they found my notebook where I wrote a somewhat goodbye note to this life. And that was the last of my habit.

Growing up in my teens, I would also record my memories in loose pieces of papers (which I still have). But problem was that I’m too secretive, I felt like I wanted to document all my struggles organically but I couldn’t because of the same reason, I’m scared. So I always have several rules like, no names of people, skip out some details of the incidents and keep it somewhat readable that if something happens to me and if certain people would reads it they won’t be as hurt. It’s tough when you want to just vent out but you can’t.

Now in my twenties, I still have issues candidly expressing deep personal thoughts through writing. I haven’t even told people I knew about this site. It seems unnatural for me even if it’s a different subject matter. Oh well, just wanted to get this all out. I’m here for the long run! Cheers!


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