Out of the box – Part 1

Every time I had to move, whether it was from one room to another or from one city to another, I made sure my dairies went with me, 13 little books in total. Over the years they have been within arm’s reach, kept in a special box. During those early years I had to hide them from my sisters’ prying eyes. I have kept a diary ever since I was twelve, and the content is horrible. All those pages are carefully filled with endless, boring accounts of my teenage loves. Horrid repetitions of heartaches and lost loves in a girl’s handwriting. Unbearable to read, really.

Yet I can’t get rid of them, or put the box away and forget all about it. This is because of the lost world that is found there. The sparks of beauty lie in what comes back as a side effect of those sob stories. Reading a diary is an instant time machine, it takes me back to a world I didn’t know I was capable of remembering. Back to the music of those days, the hits I would cry my sorry tears to. To the friends, of which I suddenly remember that they each had real lives besides the little part they played in mine. The hairstyles and hair colours they and I tried on, it clearly comes back to my minds’ eye. But I didn’t write any of it down. It’s those details I remember and see now, the stuff I didn’t write down. I get the full picture of my life back then. I realize that for years I was an observer. Taking all in and a lot more down than what I’ve been able to put down in words. Time to change all that.