About Me

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Some days I wake up feeling 60 and other days I wake up feeling 6. So if your within that age group .. we can relate.

Tuesday, June 3, 2008

I wrote till the ink ran dry ....

Stressed, confused, sad, lonely .... so many mixed emotions in me. Worried about my exams .... missing my sister .. irritated .... with life and everything in between. So i sat down for a while tried to put everything in perspective . Failed miserably. I glanced at my shelf and i saw my old beat up leather diary. Its been so long, Hello old friend. Missed me ?

I cracked it open. Looked at my old entries... High school drama .... entering college ... CPU ... A-Levels ... very happy memories with a fair balance of very sad ones, my life written out in my chicken handwriting .. bad grammar ... even worst spelling ... the works . I've kept a diary since i was 9 . It was gaudy , every letter was written in a different color (yes i'm lame like that) . I used to write in it everyday , used to start every entry by saying "Hello Book" , my rational was that its stupid to address it as Diary , calling it a book was wayyyy more mature . (yes i thought i was cool) . So anyway on the cover i wrote lovingly in bold prints "MY DIARY TOP SECERAT !" (yes i spellt secret wrongly i am aware of that but at 9 thats how i thought it was supposed to be ) On the second page i wrote a deadly curse which was of course written in blood read ink ...


and for dramatic effect i even drew a hang man and sculls and crossbones . Obviously my curse didn't work as my sister is very much alive despite reading every single entry.

I might as well share with you a story my sister tells anyone with a ear about my diary . Doing what every *evil* older sister would do she re tells this story to everyone despite it being 15 over years since she saw it.
One day with evil glee she ran with my dairy screaming out an entry i wrote :



Yes yes i spelled wrapped as Raped . To my defense i was 10 for god sakes . Unfortunately from then on i became the girl who raped her book .Sigh ... Anne Frank i ain't .

Unfortunately in a fit of rage one day after finding out my parents had read it i ripped up the book. Vowing that i would never write another one again . Hey , i was 13 , young and dramatic . However i always regretted doing that , I'd pay good money to see that book again :)

Being like any fickle teen 1 month later i started writing again . This time i was 'smarter' didn't get a book that had DIARY written all over it . and yes i didn't rape this one too if your wondering . It was just a simple leather book. I would come home after school everyday and religiously i would write what had happened ... who pissed me off in school .. what happened ... who i thought was cute ... who was angry with who and why ... To sum it up .. read one book of Sweet Vally and u get the gist of my teeny bubblegum pop writings . But it was nice to re read them all and remember all these forgotten memories .. although at times i feel like going back and slapping myself for being so annoying ... hey i was just your average teen.

As i grew older my writings became my comfort . Disjointed sentences , coded letters, random mussing, which only I can make sense of . A place where i could rant, and there is somethings oddly comforting penning down your thoughts on paper. Something to me till this very day i cant get by typing . When my mum had cancer when i was in form 4 i was so lost , i hated to see her suffer and i felt very alone and scared . I didn't really tell my friends about it because i felt no one would understand . My sister was in India at that time so i lost my main anchor . So thats when i turned to my diary, everyday after school i used to go to the hospital to keep her company . While she slept i wrote away my fears , confusions and sadness . Through her operation and back, writing down how i felt at that time really kept the emotions in check more then anything could . Now when i get angry with my mum for a trivial thing all i have to do i flip the pages documenting this amazing womens survival and everything else seems insignificant . Its so surreal flipping the pages and reading my words at that time , i barely even remember it now.

After a while i started to write less, from everyday ... to once a week ... month ... year . But when i have the mood to write i could write 30 pages only stopping when my hand cramps .

So i looked at my last entry it was new year 2007 . A lot has gone by since then . So i took out my pen and started writing again ... filling in the blanks on my life so far and what its gonna be like in the future . Still the same chicken handwriting ... bad grammar and even worst spelling . But still the same sense of calm once i was done .....

"Memory... is the diary that we all carry about with us."

Oscar Wilde