Growing up, I always had a diary. It's unfortunate that most of those (and there are many) are incomplete. My fascination with the diary was inspired by the 1964 novel, "
Harriet the Spy" by Louise Fitzhugh - the worn out paperback still sits on my bookshelf. I would start these memoirs for summer vacations and new school years alike. Now, when I see the blank pages I wonder just
what happened. Where did I go? How did I feel? I must have been enjoying myself at least. According to the scribbles and loopy lettering, an 11-year-old me enjoyed traveling around the Midwest with family, had crushes on boys who fell off the radar a a week later, and surrounded herself the best friends EVER. I can't help but feel nostalgic, even tearful, when I see notes about being lonely after moving away from my hometown or the passing of my amazing grandparents.
When I went home for the holidays Ryan and I found a
Babysitter's Club Little Sister (ladies, you know what this is) "Memory Scrapbook." I was around seven or eight when I filled out the pages, mostly fill-in-the-black sentences containing profound statements such as:
My favorite lunch at school is
good.
The school carnival was
fun.
It's the last day of school! This summer I will miss
the girls. I will not miss
the boys.
So now I'm an "adult" by society standards with a grown up, 21st century version of a diary. You're reading it. Unlike the lock and key books of my younger years I chose to make this one public. It's more censored and a lot more expressive. I don't talk about my daily life or one topic and, honestly, and it has relatively no direction whatsoever.
I love it that way.
One of the amazing aspects of blogs is the sheer mass of them out there. Some blogs probably have not been touched in years, others only center around specific moments or aspects of a person's life. I think I started one about studying abroad, I don't really remember. People write about new members of the family, big moves across the country and a particular hobby that they want to share with anyone willing to give them
33 seconds. Either way, writings belong to one person and nobody else. A writing can be shared, discarded or forgotten; either way, it always belongs to the author.
I'm simply here because I love to write. I live in an age of mass expression but where the sheer volume of voices silences many who open their mouths. So whoever reads this blog, thank you for supporting me doing what I love. Plus, I hope I can make you think or laugh on occasion. Would I write if I had zero followers and nobody cared? Absolutely.
But I love you anyway.
Posts
