Writing a Diary

Ever since I can remember, I’ve written a diary. It’s been an almost constant companion right since school. Through all those days of childhood secrets, first crushes, growing up pangs et al.  I remember the efforts of creating my own version of the morse code, trying what we used to called finglish which just gets a lot of f’s between letters, all that so those deep secrets stayed with me. Then as I grew up and got my own cupboard, it was about keeping it hidden and locked and protected. Once married, it was about setting boundaries, earning trust. It’s a different story that nothing ever really worked :). And yes, it’s also true when people say diary writing can get you into a lot of trouble. Well, it has, it’s gotten me into real big trouble too, yet I somehow never stopped. Some may think foolish, but guess I felt that what it gave me on consistent basis was worth more than the trouble it put me into on occasional basis.

What does it give you? I think space. It’s one space where you can actually be totally and completely yourself, where you can articulate your innermost desires, fears, anguishes, sorrows, jealousies, angers and all those emotions which you might otherwise not even allow to surface, to acknowledge to yourself....... leave alone talk about. And a big plus of that articulation is an acceptance of that emotion, an opportunity to let it flow and then to make peace with it.  I think it is what has enabled a lot of what I am today. An ability to know myself that little more, be myself that little more, and live life on my own terms that little more. I’m still a strong endorser.