I don't remember when I started scribbling down the word and the misery of thoughts in my notebook, neither I realized when the last page of scribbled stories took the place in my diary. I ask myself how did I start writing? As it always happens that my connection with words seem strange when I interact with people. I've intimate connection with words while I'm writing or thinking under the hot shower, more intellectual experience with dairy than any human being.
I was five when I got to know that I've lost something very important in my life without having knowledge of it's existence before. I found myself alone, facing that naked truth. I didn't want to accept it but there was no one to prove me wrong. For so many years I was being sad for the moments I've never actually lived. That’s where I build up the first layer of wall against me, with the hope that someone will have courage to break it down to prove me wrong. And that's how I started to write diary as I felt stationary in the moving life when it comes to sharing things. And same time life gave me beautiful gift, ability to write down the moments. I shared the moments with others and made a routine to jotted down those memories in diary to relive it again, whenever I feel myself lonely. With knowing the hard truth about my life I started the diary, and by sharing the same truth with someone, who was able to break that wall; I stopped writing my diary. Having someone, who understands your reason of sadness and makes no arguments of you being irritated or angry for no serious reason; instead helps you to recreate your inner self. In that period of time I lived the moments that no words can describe and no pages can store. I lost something and then I won but I went one step ahead of the 'Baazigar' I lost again. We lose, we won and then we lose again. Let's face this truth together.
The person who broke the wall, became the reason to build the wall again, more stronger than before. Again, diary held my hand. Again I became indifferent, with the split personality. This time, I was being more outgoing , I engaged with people and listened their stories. Everyone is in search of finding a good listener. They go to the people who either connect them with the right truth or speak what the person wants to listen. With falling in the first category, I found stories untold, secrets hidden beneath the dark side. With this, my behavior and personality confuses people. I became music lover but too rigid to listen someone else's playlist. I read books and write number of pages but became lazy to answer on whatsapp chat. The more I interact with people, more I started loving to spend time with My People. Those 4 or 5 idiots. I'm loud as well as quiet, the surrounding mimic of who I'm. Because it happened several of time when I open my mouth, everything collapses. This is where diary saved me. I used to send old fashioned letters to friends when I was unable to express how much they matter to me. Now they receive long emails and sometimes already scribbled diary with doodle and quotes as a gift. My diary stores someone's bitter moments as well as a beautiful love story of my two best friends. On one page there are my hidden scars and just when you flip the page being shocked it displays my creativity of poems. If one para described the philosophy of life, other shows my care freeness and incidents I don't even remember after those vodka shots I have thousands of stories to tell if someone finds enough of courage to read young girl's diary. The doodle lines one on another dictates my vulnerability, and the stains over some pages shows I can be messy with my precious diary.
It's bliss to have someone with whom you can share things, but to have a diary who hides the bags under your eyes or never judges you for bring total bitch is just another calming moment. I write because there is You! Always.
~ Kemil Ghoghari (#ms)
