Hi, Little Diary.
“It’s been a while since the last time I wrote you a letter. I missed you so much. I wanted to update you about my life every day yet I’m always short in vocabulary.
You see, these past few days, I forgot about you. For a short period, I became so happy. My emotionally selfish self was gone. I was stable. I forgot to cry. My eyes dried up. Then, suddenly everything went blurred. My tears start to fall. And I am back again. I’m back again with pen and notes.
I have a problem little diary, but I couldn’t figure it out. What’s wrong with me? In a week, I’m happy, and then the next week, I’m unstable. Do you think I’m crazy? I think I am. I always love creating my drama. I once told myself, why not I start writing my novel? It’s a novel about the world I created inside my brain about my non-existent problem. What do you think about it, little diary? Should I start writing my book? So, I would stop being emotionally unstable.“
This is one of my little diary stories. I write things. Everything. I remember when I was still a kid, my mom read my diary. There, I wrote how much I dislike her. How much I hated her for being nosy about everything. And I think she was hurt by what I wrote. Sorry mama, Happy Mother’s Day. I was a kid who did not understand why a mother needs to be tough, strict, and mean sometimes. I also wrote how much I like my neighbor’s son. I don’t know if my mom read it too but when I looked at her, reading my diary, I saw how sad she was. I felt so guilty for writing mean things about her. I stopped writing since that incident. But because writing was and is my life, so I hid my diary in a place where she couldn’t find it. I don’t know if my sister found it and read it as she’s now using my old room.