“Dear Diary”. Remember that? We used to use those words, perhaps some of us still use that phrase while writing our journal. I, myself, started writing journal since I was in elementary school, at 4th grade I think. I don’t remember much of it because I burned all my diaries I wrote while I was in elementary-secondary schools period.
Some people say that writing journal is good to release one’s emotion and thought. I do enjoy reading published live journals of some people, but I hate, really hate, reading my own journals. It’s like opening Pandora Box. I still remember the feeling I felt when I read those writings I made (not just journals, also short stories, novels, and writings I made), I wanted to kill myself. I was embarassed to the core. So I burned the journals, I deleted the files in the computer. I threw away the evidence of my life (which doesn’t really matter, as I can still remember vividly the embarassing moments happened to me or the fool decision I took).
But (as always, there’s a ‘but’ in everything), my bestfriend, Danz, pointed out to me that it’s important to write a journal. No matter how embarrassing things happened in one’s live. Later, perhaps one can learn from what happened. It got me thinking about myself. Maybe the reason why I resented the journals I’ve written then burned all of them was because I was not ready to learn who I am. I was not ready to accept myself. I was inside a bubble where I built an impossible dream that I have to be a perfect human. That’s why I was ashamed reading my own thought, my own writing. I was ashamed of how imperfect I am. I was ashamed of myself who had made mistakes. I wasn’t ready to accept that I am a human who is allowed to make mistakes. I wasn’t ready to admit mistakes I’ve made.
I am writing a journal again, not just about daily life, but also my thoughts. I even tried to write a letter for myself in the future (found the website through one of my friend). It feels good. I’m still not sure that I am ready to accept myself, that I won’t be ashamed when I read again what I’ve written, but I’m willing to try once more. It isn’t just about documenting my life, but to release my emotion. I found out that after writing, I felt better. I don’t have to write everyday, but I have to write things that’s I consider important.
And maybe one day I can accept myself, my mistakes, my life. Maybe one day I am ready to face who I really am. Maybe one day I will say, “It’s okay to make mistakes.”
And what better ways to learn oneself except from one’s journal?