My First Journal Entry in Seven Years

Posted on January 11, 2015


When I first touched the nib of my gel pen to the crisp new page, my heart skipped a beat. It was like being on a first date. It had been seven years since that had happened! I was nervous. I wondered, “Will this work? It used to be so easy.” I used to spend hours in quaint coffee shops across India, just me and my diary…writing. Now, it felt weird writing down my thoughts. Thoughts that no one else would read, leave alone get likes or accolades for. Wow.

Once upon a time, there was a 12-year old girl who wrote diligently in her diary every night before she went to bed. In that little book were documented all her daily highs and lows. Her first and unrequited love. Her mother’s bizarre behavior that she could not understand or explain to her own family members. Stuck to certain entries were little memories like the wrapper of a chocolate – she no longer remembers the special person or occasion that befitted such an honor!

I can still see myself sitting on a single bed in my grandparents’ room and writing away. In 2007, when I cleaned my closet in my dad’s house, I found seven or eight journals that documented my life from the ages of 12-24. There was so much pain in them from the years that my mother was sick, that I got rid of them all. I deeply regret this decision. I now understand the value of those painful memories. Yet at many levels I feel free.

Last Sunday, as I wrote my first journal entry in almost seven years, I wondered why I stopped writing. Writing my diary is what kept me afloat through those difficult years. Writing my diary was what spiked my imagination, gave wings to my words and out came little rhyming poems about love. At 18, these rhymes metamorphosed into blank verse that made me feel very intellectual. The themes were usually the same – soul searching and heartache.

My diminished diary writing coincides with me getting my first laptop in 2004 and then the birth of my blog in 2005. I began living this online life. I believed stupidly that I could write as honestly on my blog or even that I could write about anything! And for a while it worked. It was nice to explain myself to the world. Many people who had completely misunderstood me during my teens and early 20s reconnected with me because of my blog. I had finally created a persona of myself that I was happy with. Now what?

My first journal in seven years.

My first journal in seven years.

For the last few weeks, my soul was as if calling out to me and asking me to go buy myself a journal. My inner person wanted me to write down my thoughts, wanted me to befriend myself all over again. Something deep inside wanted me to write down my ruminations.

I bought myself a little blue-green book with trees and hearts and kissing birds. That first post began mainly with me feeling nostalgic about my writing and wistful about whether I would be able to write effortlessly as before. It was difficult initially. It felt strange to write as thoughts came to me. But then my pen, as if connected to a nerve in my hand that went straight to my soul and out came the words. I wrote about 5 pages that day.

All week I didn’t write. But I thought about writing every day. The ruled pages called out to me. If this isn’t like being in love all over again, then what is? Will I find the balance between my journal and my blog? Will both sides of me thrive? I hope so.

Posted in: introspection