For my eyes only

​10 Feb 2025

​My first day at attempting a public journaling sesh...

Why public? Because it would help me stick to my commitment.

I used to be a voracious journaller back in my teens. And my teens were in the 1990s, so I'm sure not the only one. 

But then by 2013, it had gotten digital, and by 2016 I found myself telling people that I can't think unless I have a keyboard at my fingertips.

Meanwhile, medically I have battled bipolar, borderline, anxiety, mania etc., all of whose therapy mandated journaling, and all of which I fulfilled with some scribbles and doodles on the backs of rejected A4 size print outs from my office.

Who would judge?

​Today, as I complete a quarter and half past thirty five on this planet, I feel lesser than I did when I was barely twelve.

I used to write poems, draw pictures and steal money to get all of them color-printed from cyber cafés back in the day. I thought of myself as the biggest and the best who deserved to be seen and heard. It's a different matter that the mother of my then-romantic interest happened to be a prolific litterateur who critiqued my love letters with more details than the person whom I loved ever did.

But the job was done. I did impress the parents, and the parents impressed their child and I managed to have a happy, fulfilled romantic life... till I fell in love with another; invoking the wrath of the very mother who was once my Cupid's assistant.

​A decade and a couple of divorces later, I can retell this story. But, today, the topic is journaling.

At the age of twelve, I didn't know the difference between writing for oneself and writing to someone else. So, much of my love letters read as rants, as Gen Z peeps would say. But, at least I wrote.

With age, it became very clear to me that no one is reading me. Except, my father, my ex-love's mother, my then best friend and myself. 

Funnily, this very fact that became a deterrent to continue writing, is today my biggest safeguard against writing.

I can now write freely, knowing for sure that no one's gonna read. That's freedom.

Until next time, T!