"Dear Diary..."

I began keeping a journal when I was in fourth grade. Back then, it was more popularly called a diary. The first one I had was a gift from my mom. Its cover was made of black, shiny, hard plastic with a golden lock and inside was pink colored, heavily scented paper. It was my best friend. I wrote about everything in it: life in school, at home, friends, family and those first "I-wanna-puke" crushes. And I haven't stopped writing since then. The last time I was home, I was going through some of my stuff and I found all my old journals packed in one box. Twelve books spanning almost 22 years of my life. I tried reading some of my entries and it was absolutely crazy! Some made me smile and laugh, others made me cry & grieve for myself, while some just made me cringe with embarrassment (earth, please open up and swallow me!). Reading them made me realize how much I've changed and how much I've learned. From my childish, idealistic fantasies to my clueless, confused & insecure teenage self and to the young adult finally facing the harsh challenges of the real world.

This has always been my way of venting, of analyzing my thoughts and feelings and recording moments of my life that mattered to me. It's been a source of strength and an anchor to sanity. I'll probably keep doing this until arthritis freezes my fingers or I lose the ability to express myself in writing... heaven forbid! And even if I've jumped on the bandwagon and have gone on-line with my journal-writing for all the world (well, for anyone who cares to peruse it, anyway) to see, I still keep a small book where pen meets paper for those times that I miss doing this in the old-fashioned way.