Ever since I was a little girl, I kept a diary. Writing in it my day to day joys and sorrows, it kept me going through some tuff times (the adolescent times as they say). It was my priced possession, something which I cherished. School, college, it covered them all.
But true life starts once you are out in the real world. Facing the big bad wolves all clawing for success in every field. I started my job and slowly my diary lay in my closet, waiting for ink to seep in through its pages soon. I wrote my diary mostly during weekends when I was away from the hassles of work and wanted to vent out my anger against sexism at work place and unfair bosses.
I frequented my diary often when the phase of my marriage came along, as there were so many emotions, so many new characters in my life I had to talk about. So many questions and so many dreams. My diary sure was happy as we had become best friends again. But soon after marriage, once I settled down and work and family took all my time, my diary lay forgotten in my closet, dust accumulating on it, still waiting for me to share again. I feel guilty today as I realised that I had stopped writing. My diary is what made me realise I love to write, that I can express myself on paper than otherwise. Yet, it is forgotten now and I feel ashamed. Its like I forgot a friend who was with me listening to me in every wake of my life.
To all those who keep a journal, DO NOT STOP. It’s a part of who you are. Don’t let it lay forgotten amongst magazines and old newspapers, dusty and frayed. Keep it close to you, cherish it, be regular. There is nothing known as “No time”. You have to make time for everything. Keep your diary alive!