Back in elementary school, I used to keep a diary. My first one was a cute little thing, pink with a picture of Hello Kitty on the front and a matching lock + key, and pages that were all different colors. The perfectionist style of mine was prominent even back then, evidenced by how I rewrote several entries because I didn't start them how they "should" be started, i.e. with the phrase 'Dear Diary'.
That lock + key probably ensured the safest diary I ever owned... because every other diary/journal I kept after that was broken into.
I loved stationary with a fiery passion. Still do, actually (it's why I love back-to-school shopping). So when I got a new notebook -this time with a rapping teddy bear on the front that was ready to drop some hot BEATS- it wasn't out of the question that I was pretty excited.
Finding a perfect glittery purple pen, writing in that thing let me release any feeling that I couldn't hold in or couldn't tell anyone. It was a good outlet for pent up negative energy; as a small nine-year old dealing with small and sometimes blown out of proportion nine-year old drama it was a particularly nice system.
Extended family came to visit around this time. My family and them went somewhere nice for vacation, and I brought my diary with me because why not? I wanted to document every day, wasn't that reasonable?
This vacation wasn't just my family + extended family. It was also with the family of my childhood friend, a sweet girl. For the majority of the trip, I hung out with my friend (we are going to call her Ess) and a favorite relative of mine who was only a couple years older than me (we'll call her Cake). These people were two of my favorite people in the world.
One day, there was a moment in which Cake completely ditched me to hang out with Ess. That, along with something that she said, really really upset nine-year old me. Two of my favorite people left me, on a vacation we were supposed to be having fun, and were really rude about it? I didn't like it.
And so, I wrote it all in my journal. I wrote that I hated her. Did I mean it? No, but I was upset. I was mad. It was my journal anyway, I could write what I wanted. It's supposed to be private.
On the way back home I was holding my notebook with me in the backseat of the big 'ol car. This car was an entanglement of many legs and arms and a bit cramped, for it attempted to hold two families. As I fell asleep during the long drive, it become revealed to me later that during the period of which I was sleeping, Cake and her mother read every word I wrote about her.
Cake's mom made me apologize to her.
I am all for apologies. I hate conflict, I hate unnecessary drama that could easily have been avoided, I hate grudges. But one thing I did not -and still do not- believe in was apologizing for what I had written. Let me reiterate what I said earlier:
I was upset. I was mad. In a healthy way to take out this anger, I wrote out my feelings in my journal. For me, it was a good release. It was meant to be private, I shouldn't have had to apologize for feelings that were valid. They wanted me to apologize for something they should not have read in the first place.
This was only one of many breaches of my personal privacy. This, along with the other experiences, made me stop journaling altogether. Once in a blue moon I would find a random notebook and scrawl down jagged thoughts and made sure to hide it somewhere, but that hardly counts. I abandoned the concept of a journal, a diary, whatever because I knew that someone would read my thoughts.
Someone would read what I had written and in some way, invalidate my feelings.
I wasn't okay with that.
It's 2016 now, and as a birthday gift my friends gave me notebooks. They know I love stationary and art (I got some of those cool "older" coloring books too), and got me several notebooks and gel pen sets. Everything was so beautiful, and I loved it all, and gosh darn it I love my friends. When I opened my friend Nicole's lovely gift and it had this cute ornately decorated notebook that said "and so the adventure begins..." on it, I knew it was a sign. I was willing to try again.
I always loved the concept of a journal! The way you could document moments, ideas, and thoughts in such a personal way is so... intimate. I'm trying again. I want to learn + grow, and I definitely don't want to forget any of the best moments of my life.
The first entry has already been written, and alongside it I wrote a little list of what I, as a person, want to strive toward being:
Here's to the rest of 2016 and the rest of our lives ahead being good for all of us.
// with love ; kimiko hope
i'm winnie, an average teen. aka i sleep too much yet i'm tired all the time.
a rambling of sorts
gather around i have a story
it's called fangirling
lonely hearts club
the olden days