The past few times that I’ve lifted my pen and place the tip of it against the paper of my diary, a question pops into my head, “why do I want to keep writing?”. I think people write because they want to store a memory of an event that they could look back on one day, similar to that of taking a photograph.
Looking back at the events of the past weeks, there isn’t a single thing that I would like to look back on in future, assuming I get there. Just like how no one takes a picture of another person in tears, I hardly have anything pleasant to draw from. Should I still choose to pen down those unpleasant feelings which seems to be getting worse each day? And to what end? What would I accomplish by doing that?
I write, in part, to feel a connection to my younger self, the one who wrote those words. You will become a different person, one you won’t even recognize as you. And that person will wonder what you were like.
Words can help with that.
Though there are things I wrote as a teenager I have never dared to read since. I don’t know if I ever want to know that person. But maybe my kids will, after I am gone.
Ironically though, looking back at unpleasant stuff that happened in the past makes my current position feel more enjoyable and positive. Maybe that’s why?