Last night, as I picked up my black ballpoint pen, ready to scribble my thoughts on the smooth paper below, something stopped me.
Writing in my diary has become a habit that I’ve let bloom on and off for years now. But unfortunately, if someone asked me to find my very first journal entry, I’d have no idea where to look.
If I can recall properly, I would have been about eight years old when I first wrote the words ‘Dear diary’. Perhaps I described my favourite teddy bear, an adventure with my childhood-partner-in-crime (either my twin or the next door neighbour’s kid), or a day of family fun. One thing I know for sure is, despite extreme care, it would’ve been full of spelling mistakes… I have never been that good at spelling.
So, as I sat there in my little orange and white chair, I couldn’t help wonder where all my new diary entries would go. Where, in my ever-cluttered room, am I going to keep storing them? Should I be the only one to read them, ever? Will they end up lost like so many others before them?
In that little moment, before pen hit paper, I’d already made up my mind, I was going to attempt (let’s stress the word attempt) to blog.
It’s crazy how many positives to blogging there are, but the best to me are 1. My entries will always be where I left them and 2. I can edit my writing with a simple press of a button (no messy scribbles to hide unwanted words or scrunched up pages beneath my feet).
I’m not the best writer, nor am I a particularly funny or interesting person so I can’t promise that these blogs will be worth reading for anyone but myself. But, I like the way it feels to create something. Who knows, maybe my little corner of the internet will become something great.