My affair with my journals

 

This post is about how I see my relationship with my journal which is an integral part of my life.

One of the most prized possessions is my journal. I have been gifted two journals by two different friends and I treasure them very dearly. One since 2013 and the other since 2018.

My journals are a medium for me to speak to the universe around me, some of the things that I mention in it don’t see or hear the light and sound of any other person but for me. Sometimes it should be that way where you bare yourself in front of someone or something to get better in life.

My reflections about the happenings in my life and how I deal with things that bother me, the places I go to, the experiences that I go through during the travel, the plans and some more things that I don’t remember.

Now and then, when I make the entries in my journal (yes, no shit, I don’t journal every day. It’s a strange affair between me and my journals) I go to the previous entries and just read them to see how far I’ve come from the situations that bothered me to later laughing at my reactions to those.

Life always moves on and the filled pages in the journals are a testament to that  every single entry has its own problems and by the time you come up with the next entry you’ve already moved miles ahead of the previous entry’s problems. You face the challenge, tackle it and if you succeed — you know what to do when you come across something like it next time and if you fail — you know what not to do.

The journal might not be the most expensive thing that I possess but it definitely is a chest full of memories, untold stories and feelings and countless instances of motivation in life when things were going down south. I only wish I had inculcated the habit a bit earlier in life.