Habitual Writing

I’m that person who has been writing journal entries since childhood but never had the initiative to do more than just that… until now, I suppose. At certain point of time, I would flip the pages to the beginning and read what my younger self has written. I would always pick out any spelling or grammar mistakes and get amused or sad.

Memories are precious to me and because I know that my mind is fickle, I tend to preserve important events with ink on paper. Most of the time, I’d displace my jumbled thoughts from my head and into the notebook. That way, I could clear my mind for a bit. And it’s always interesting to read back what I’ve written and compare my state of mind then and now.

The following is an unabridged journal entry dated 28th January 2016. I thought I’d share because maybe some people might be able to relate to this and I guess I would just like to say that you are not alone in this uncertainty. Right now, I know roughly which route I must travel on, but then more questions have come up. It seems that one known thing would always be accompanied by a dozen unknown things.

My name is Diyana. I have been alive on this Earth for 21 years and 7 months. I have been writing about my life, secretly, ever since I can remember, perhaps at around the age of 10 or so. It wasn’t consistent at first but then it became a habit and subsequently a need.

Writing down my thoughts has helped me live through difficulties both externally and internally. Little did I realise that it has helped me shape the person I am today. I now know myself deeply—my likes, dislikes, weaknesses, strengths, and my passion. This might sound boastful considering I’ve only lived for 2 decades as well as a lack of tangible achievement. But I’d like to think that I have indeed achieved very much internally, the realm unseen by society.

I have discovered myself in the midst of a vigorously flowing river of life. Because of a lack of self-confidence and direction, I had no choice but to go with the flow, so to speak. I adhered to what my immediate society seemed to want from me and not knowing better, I sought to do what seemed to be the right course of action. Not once did the question of whether I’d like to change course, flow into another connecting river and go straight into the sea ever appeared, and again not knowing better, I didn’t think there was any other option. It seemed that my inherent obedient nature, perhaps strengthened by some kind of traumatic experience, wished only to please others. As a consequence, I regularly bumped into rocks and nearly drowned several times. But I was never dead. 

Each bump ignited a tiny spark. The more I faced resistance, the more I got to stop to think and ponder of a life on a different flow. Once the thoughts entered my mind, I questioned my current state. 

Is this the route I should be going? Where am I heading to? Am I content? Why must I always bump into things and drown and yet I’m still moving as I did before? Is there more to this? Can I continue being indifferent?

This became contagious. A new kind of plague entered my mind. One that felt most disconcerting, but soon to be encouraging. It was my final battle on that current flow.

As soon as a different branch of a stream was spotted, I consciously prepared to switch course. It took a lot of effort but I am successful. The flow is much calmer and it feels right. However, remnants of the previous flow still cling to me. I know that I would have to be patient and let time wash away the impurities. I am excited to discover more of this stream but anxious that I might not be fully cleansed. 

This is where I’m at now.


(picture not my own)


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