a.new.day

When I was younger, I liked to write in my journal. Often. Most of it were rant entries; I’d complain about stuff that happened to me that day, or why does nobody get me?!?! Other times I’d speculate and daydream and fantasize about various things. Most of the time they were gossip-y entries; a detailed account of he said/she said and the drama that ensued.

Either way, I loved writing in my journal. What’s more, I loved reading my entries years later. It gives me an idea of the kind of person I was, and the kind of person I am now. Most of the time I think to myself, I can’t believe I said that!! Or, Man, I was stupid at that age, haha. But either way, by reliving the inconsequential drama of my past, by reminiscing of good times or bad times, and by feeling embarrassed or proud of myself years later, it all serves as a reminder to me...of me. This is who I am, these are the actions I’ve taken, and these are the experiences (however happy, hurtful, memorable or those I’m dying to forget) that shape the person I am today. And I cannot deny that whether or not I’m grateful for them, I do have them.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that I used to write in my journal… and I don’t anymore. Maybe I don’t want to record my life for fear of what I might think of myself later. Maybe the invention of the internet, and xanga, and facebook, means I don’t have to. Either way, I think I’m going to give it another go.