Dear Diary.....

There is no escaping the loss from the flood, when I'm at home. This saddens me for few reasons, and I see Mom and Dad sometimes talk about the the degree of damage with their friends and I thought, 'it's been months since the flood, yet some damages are still in repair.'. Goes the same for the loss of what we had, but why look back?
They're gone, and we -I- can't do anything about it.
Except to let go.

Truth is, I miss my diaries. 
I grieved for them, when we cleaned the house, and I grieved them still as I unpacked my stuff at college. Every page, every smudge of ink, I grieved. They bore my memories.

But, nothing can be done.
I miss them, and my thoughts are all that I can give for them. A few stray tears, here and there, but nothing can be done. Yeah. Nothing...can be done. 

Amelia suggested that I start all over. Why not?
There's nothing like the present, right? I may have lost 4 years of highschool in my old diaries but my now diary and the future ones will bear my present college life, and hopefully, beyond. Yeah. That's it. Start all over. It'll be fine. It'll be okay.

Plus, I have this blog, acting as my pseudo-diary.
This one, I really don't care if anyone reads it because it's online for a reason. I suppose it's appropriate in some level, but then again, I don't give a shit. They can always shut the browser and go away if they don't like it. My stuff, my shit, right?

But my book-diary will be VERY EXTREMELY personal because I absolutely have no fucking filter whatsoever with it. I put real names, with real attributes, and most importantly, my real feelings. The front page are always adorned with threats and gory stuff.

Those are very real, I'm not kidding.

I flushed my brother down the toilet last time he read them, and that was accidental. The reading, not the flushing. The flushing was very non-accidental.

The first reason I started writing diaries is because I wanted to remember. The days, the events, the people in my life, and my feelings for them or about them.
I don't want to ever forget. It's scary, to forget things and unable to fish them out from the dwells of your brain. Like a big, black, gaping hole, staring at you in the face.
Scorning you.

Second, it's refreshing, to let go and be honest about every single thing I write. 
When I feel angry, I don't have to hold back. 
When I feel sad, I don't try to wipe the tears away.
When I feel humiliated, ashamed, and desperate, I curl into the soft pages and breathe.
When I feel happy, I let the ink shine.
And I go to sleep with happy dreams, free of nightmares and monsters.

The additional reason is my future children.
I want them to know their mother, the version they didn't have the chance to see. I want them to see, my vulnerable points and my invincible points. My high and lows. 

My children will be my everything, and for that reason, I want them to know everything....that is me. :)