Diary, a very meaningful word, which can make me excited, sad, insecure and emotional all together by what I’ve in me. Yes, my diary is all about me. It reflects the petals of my day-to-day life, along with my random thoughts and the help of words: a world of my limitless freedom where I can understand myself without the fear of others. Briefly saying, if you’re a stranger to me, the best way to understand “myself” would be through my diary; it may sometimes explain about you- my observations aren’t actually your reality- at anywhere.
As per majority of people’s understanding of a diary, it is simply a notebook in which you can write down your-own secrets, experiences, emotions, quite natural crushes (maybe, un-natural) you’ve with those guys, valuable memories, unexpected anger on a person or that “thing”, success as well as failure stories, regrets… and the list goes on like a chain… They’re countless actually as you see; writing about yourself is indeed an effortless task.
I got my first-diary while I was studying in fourth standard. Nevertheless, I loved writing diaries even before. Rewinding back, back…back… even before fourth standard, the one who has “acted” similar to a personal diary of mine was mom, my beloved billi, I call her so. As a naughty-little gal, when I reach back home from school in the evening, she was the one who listened to my innocent-silly dialogues, those intended antics, my anger on that rude instructor, my full-time-engagement with friends and a cooked up story of why I didn’t fill out the lunch she’s given me those days. It was through her, or she was the authentic symbol of my lively diary, those days. And so, after fourth standard, once I got a diary of my-own. However, the contents in it were mostly “public” oriented ones. It was peculiar that my whole family loved reading my journal. And to my surprise, I never objected to it; what’s so wrong in reading their daughter or sister? As the time passed, my diary slowly turned in to too personal and to be precise, it coincidentally turned directly in to electronic diary as I used to write it down in my lappy. Later, I got one smarter-advanced cell, even more than me or any other human-being, whom I trusted to share my secrets and other peculiar thoughts in me. Meanwhile, I found that I can lock it safely, and thus avoid others to read myself all because of the updates given by the technological era; my diary got a password which is always safe with me. But they (my family, ya know) never objected against what I’ve done and later, my diary writing got a shred of “Childhood memories” along with my kiddish pictures in the album below the tv’s drawer.
Now, let’s come to the present.
My diary has changed again. Must say, it really changed a lot. Though, the same-life is still there; it’s my friend now. The day feels incomplete if I don’t narrate my day to it. My whole secrets are slowly getting written on this new-diary, the one I cannot have before; it’s safe even without a password, I know. And my current diary has an advantage, or madness! It gives me advice, laugh out loud at my silliness, cries with me, feels the real me in me and write to me, regardless of where I’m. Maybe, this journal will also vary with time, God knows. But it feels right to have someone who is always ready to listen to you no matter what the time and situation. As always I am in love with my diary. It will hold a special spot in my affection as my other diaries have.
I love you, My diary!