Merci

She dreamt of a wooden study desk with a small table lamp. Reading in the soft glow of light. Listening to her favourite music? The night falls slowly, and the trees whisper in silence. The stars peep out and watch her as she sits on her desk by the window. Writing in her diary perhaps? Sometimes glancing outside the window, staring into the sky. She dreamt of that one world of her own. Of uninterrupted silence. So simple. So pristine. It took her several years. And one ordinary moment of epiphany, to realize that the dream did come true. -Merci.

It was only last year that I began writing a diary. I remember how 2012 was such an action packed year for me. A lot of highs; a few lows. It was then that I decided I should maintain a diary. A friend seconded my decision saying it would give me such a better understanding of myself. So here I was, with a seemingly simple task for many, but a mammoth expedition for myself: write my deepest feelings into a diary. For those who are closest to me would know it’s not natural of me at all. Nevertheless, I picked up a book and a funny wood pen (both received as gifts) and turned to page 1. Dear Diary, …… Believe me it’s a little scary. To write down what’s in your mind exactly how it is and see it in flesh. Also to recreate every little thing you have done in the day - giving so much power to a book? No, it’s not happening. But I did it. For quite some time. I wasn’t regular. But it felt nice eventually. Sometimes it’s fun to go back and read old entries. Well, don’t look for ...