*Disclaimer: This post has nothing to do with the movie. And I mean totally nothing 🙂
I started writing on a diary when I was 12. When I discovered the fun in writing my thoughts down, it easily became a habit for me. I think it was also because of my diaries that I realized that I loved to write.
Being young, though, and having to rely on my student’s allowance, I had to make do with ANY kind of notebook. On good months (say, after Christmas or my birthday), I could afford to buy the cute, frilly kind. So sickeningly feminine and cute. On lean months, I would settle for anything with a spiral on the side. As long as it had lines… and I can write on it. Truth be told, I had more of the latter.
What I loved about keeping a diary is that you can air out your thoughts — and your diary won’t try to oppose you or say that you’re wrong. You can whine and vent — and your diary won’t roll its eyeballs while you’re all whiny (because it doesn’t have eyeballs, duh!). And when I was much, much younger and was in the poetry making mode, my diary was my “artist’s canvas.”
More than that, my diaries preserved my moments. Good ones, bad ones, exciting ones… okay, even the boring ones (like when there’s really nothing to write about but I was so bored and I wanted to write something…it happens.)
I used to chronicle every interesting thing that happened to me. I remember the night before the first day of my freshman year in high school, there was a concert on tv that I so badly wanted to watch (which I did)…
Said concert lasted ’til midnight, and I was the only one awake and I had no one to share the excitement with… but I had my diary with me, and all throughout the concert I was writing my thoughts, along with the sequence of songs as the band sang them. I was singing and dancing, too (yes, I already knew then how to multitask). After the show, I reread my entry — about 5 pages of them — and relived the concert in my mind. My handwriting was almost illegible, but I was happy. I felt I saved the moment on paper.
You see, we cannot remember everything. There will come a time when our memory will fail us. Happens for some people way earlier and faster than for others. Sad but true. I don’t consider myself old (i mean, OLD) yet, but honestly, there are things — events — from years past that I cannot remember anymore. Like a friend of mine will say, “Remember when we…” and I feel bad for not remembering. Heck, sometimes I can’t even remember what I wore last week! (Not that it’s worth chronicling or something…)
Just as an aside, I overheard my sister and a cousin talking the other day about an event that they had together almost a decade ago, and funny thing was, both of them couldn’t remember the details. My cousin couldn’t even remember being there! And she blamed having had two epidurals (she has two kids now) for her memory loss. My sister does the same, a lot of times. She blames her epidural whenever she forgets something (Most of the time I tell her she owes me money to check if her brain cells are still active… and then the epidural gets the blame). The thing is, we are still in our thirties!
I would want to remember a lot of things. I want to preserve my memories. When I am much older, I want to be the type who will tell her grandchildren stories of childhood and youth. Not that they would want to listen, but that is another issue. The thing is, I want my children and my children’s children to learn from me… to see me as the person that I am/was. I cannot tell my grandchildren stories if I don’t remember them.
That’s why I kept diaries… because I knew that at some point in time, I would want to look back and remember something — an incident, an emotion… even a heartbreak. I can read my entry and reminisce, and relive.
I lost most of my old diaries, though. Nature has its way of cleaning one’s closet (i think my first ever blog was about the sorry fate of my diaries). And then as I got older and had more pressing responsibilities (i.e., parenting and motherhood), I didn’t think I still had the time to sit and chronicle my day. Besides, my son would probably find it hilarious if he sees me writing on a diary (You’re still using notebooks? So uncool mom!). Yet it would be nice to chronicle my midlife adventures.
And then I realized that basically, this whole blogging experience is what it is. My daily chronicle. I’m airing out my thoughts, I’m venting, whining, ranting, raving… sharing, teaching, humoring myself, humoring others…making friends. Plus, I am preserving days. I am preserving the moments that I write about.
I have gone back to the habit that I began when I was a young girl. And it’s all good.
I just hope wordpress doesn’t crash. Ever. And I mean ever, ever…
PS. And yes, I used to start my entries with Dear Diary. All the time.
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photo via weheartit.com and google images