Writing

I used to like to write a lot. A blank notebook with its clean lined pages is just so inviting. I remember I even wrote once in my diary, asking myself why was it that it seemed I couldnt think unless I had pen and paper in front of me and just let words flow from somewhere within.

Nights were the best for writing. Dark skies leave me morose yet at peace at the same time, and it was like the world was quieting down a little such that I could hear myself better. Words tend to find their place better when the mood isn't so bright and hence days are never as good for me as the sun gets too bright.

I had so many questions then; at the height of my diary writing days in secondary and JC. Most of my entries were part observations, part questions, and when I got tired and sick of running them through my head, I would stop and go to sleep or get back to my homework or revisions. When I got really tired of what I wrote or when I felt like embarking on some new phase in life, I would change diaries. I like the idea of starting a new diary afresh and it was hopeful; what the clean new pages would capture in days to come.

I have a couple of old unfinished diaries and half of me do not wish to re-read them but half of me know that I am still keeping them because one day I would want to read them. Though I get bit cringey when I think about it, as it is like having to face all the old boggarts and as boggarts go, they still can wield some power or bring forth the same feelings of anxiety even when everything else has changed. The imprint somewhat leaves its mark.

Despite my own great insecurity at leaving my bare soul out sunning in the summer's day, I do have a soft spot for reading people's inner thoughts and the sharing of vulnerabilities. I think it takes a strong person to admit he/she is vulnerable and in the modern world, too many people label vulnerabilities negatively when we could all learn a thing or two from empathising more.

Its kinda scary reading one's own diaries, and its just as, if not more unsettling to read a loved one's diaries. Because at least you are familiar and know somewhat what you have wrote and experienced before. Whereas, the other is like peering into the pensieve of memories and not knowing what to expect. But, despite the occasional queasy feeling from the ex-files, I think its still a wonderful wonderful thing to be invited into the world of past, and be able to not miss out on all the emotions felt and quirky writings which leave me in chuckles and letting me understand one better. And with more understanding brings greater love still:)

So, what's the point? I guess, not much except to just keep writing and remember to save the words!