This is a blog. In here, I blog thoughts, opinions, feelings, literary analysis, fanpersoning and other things.
However, in comparison to some blogs, which are more of online journals than anything else, mine could be considered quite neutral. (Note all of the passive and indefinite “should“, “could” and “seems like“s that I usually employ to express my thoughts, rather than will, can , is…)
In some ways, I respect all of the bloggers who have the ability to expose their deepest desires/fears/comments about the world, or even the not-quite-so-significant feelings about day to day life or their issues for anyone to read. For example, you future boss.
On the other hand, I was given a diary on my 9th(?) birthday, and I faithfully tried to write in it at least once a week. My obnoxious brother was being an irritant, and I had to hide it from him; it was such a great place that I forgot about it myself for almost an entire year. Then I began writing again, until I finally finished every single page. And I started to try to continue and keep going, as so many people will tell you how keeping a diary is really soothing, therapeutic, a good writing exercise, etc, etc.
Then I read over what I’d been writing. I swear, I was ready to burn the thing – it’s full of self-centred awfulness and whingey-ness and is really bad quality writing, too; I can’t even complain in a properly rhythmic and poetic manner. So instead of disposing of it (burying it in the fire place, ripping it into shreds and smushing it up in water to hide all evidence were all viable options), I keep it, somewhere that I can’t even remember now, and have vowed that if I feel the slightest hint of an urge to ruminate in such ‘ugh’-ness – disgusted-shiver inspiring writing – all I have to do is think of my diary as it grows dusty somewhere, and the urge will vanish into thin air.
I hope that this blog will never take such a confessional tone, and that I am able to convert my opinions into well formed sentences that convey genuine points, because I could not bear having a ‘diary’ online for any browsing stranger to read. I also hope that one day I will lose that remaining smidgeon of sentimentality and really burn that journal.
What about you; were there any diary experiences that led you to take up the pastime, or drop the habit? Or did you too shudder in horror the moment teachers mentioned the word self-reflection?
Looking forward to hearing your opinions,
Let’s call me Lily