I have started bringing my journal whenever I am out once more. I missed the heaviness of its bulk against my bag. My journals and I always had a special bond. We go way back.
It has once saved me from the long and hellish traffic while commuting. From boring professors and long class breaks. From several life disappointments.
My journals have seen me through the different stages of my life.
From my sappy, starry eyed adolescent phase – insecure of herself, pinning over her unrequited love. To my angry teenager stage – feeling misunderstood by her family.
It has let me share the bliss and uncertainties of a new love. The joys and fears of having a baby and raising one. The ups and downs of having an unconventional job. Even the hurt and disappointments over a back stabbing friend.
My journal let me pour my thoughts, tears and fears. It has kept secrets I am scared to tell even to my husband. It didn’t judge me while I judged the people around me. It let me vent out my frustrations.
I have been on hiatus from writing long entries for a while now, just jutting down bullets of my brain farts.
With the burst of technology, it has became easier to type down my thoughts through my online journals. I am spending more that 10 hours a day in front of a keyboard anyway — I even have forgotten the last time I held a pen except when signing bills.
In a way, I felt like I’m being unfaithful to my journals with this blog. Both may seem to answer my need to just write and share. But you see, they are different.
With my journals, not only have I missed feeling the strokes of my pen against paper.
I missed being myself.
Dear journal, I promise not to ignore you again.