That's the number of journals I managed to fill up during those pre-teen to early-teen years when I wrote my daily musings by hand. It's a little under six years' worth of material.
Let me tell you, they are oh so painful to read through. I've read through about four of them since Wednesday, when I had the idea of rereading my old journals to see what kind of entries I'd written about my fights with my mother. (We'd gotten into another argument this week that led to a prolonged silent treatment, but that's another matter.) But nevertheless, I am eternally thankful to my younger self for documenting my life so methodically. For one thing, I don't think I would have been nearly as good at writing if I hadn't been constantly writing over the course of those six years.
It shows. I started off with the very first one, which I received the winter of the fourth grade as a Christmas present from my first piano teacher. Diction and syntax were unbearable, but hey -- I was only nine years old. I don't remember much about that time, but from reading that first journal, I can tell you:
- I was Pokemon and Cardcaptors-obsessed
- The things I cared most about were grades and tennis. (In one entry, I moaned on and on about how I'd just had the worst day of my life. Reason? I'd gotten a B+ on a test.)
- I was disgusted (though probably harbored a crush on, considering how many entries were dedicated to him) by a certain boy in my class, who will remain nameless because I'm quite ashamed of this memory, actually. (By the way, I decided to look him up on Facebook afterwards because I realized I haven't thought about this person in years. Turns out he has a girlfriend now!)
But anyways. The reason these were so painful to read is because I was sooooo obsessed with the Prince. Literally. It's sort of fascinating, in the same grotesque way that I would be fascinated if I could cut myself open and poke around inside a little. If any shred of conversation occurred between me and the Prince, or even if I overheard somebody else having a conversation about the Prince, BAM -- there it goes in the journal, where I'd analyze the silly thing for pages. If I could take my lecture notes with such detail, I'd probably raise my GPA.
Oh, and while the Prince infatuation was happening, I would also entertain myself with "side-dishes" I'd keep my eye on. So shameless, Sophelia. I'd nearly forgotten about the one in eighth grade, and now that I think back it is entirely laughable, in that WHAT-WERE-YOU-THINKING?? sort of way.
Rereading has also made me very much aware of my selective memory. Apparently, my brain had conveniently forgotten all of the lecherous things teenage boys do/say, in particular a certain character who popped back into my consciousness like a ghost two years ago.
On a serious note, revisiting those old journals really made me see just how much I internalized everything. Thinking back, I probably didn't know who to trust. Middle school was around the time when social circles started changing -- SL, who had been one of my best friends in elementary school, drifted away while new friends entered my life. With such chaotic middle school drama, it's no wonder I didn't really find my place.
I don't think I internalize so much anymore. Though my friendships with my high school friends have decayed to an extent (we barely talk during most of the year), I can think of three very good friends I have at school whom I share a lot of my problems with. I'm still a very private person, but I think I've become much better at opening up now.
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