Two shoe boxes full of my diaries have been stashed in a secure place for months.

For months I have had no time to get back to the contents of the box, glimpse through the diaries, see once meaningful little things from friends and lovers, finally go through the piles of the paper, pictures and cards and see what's all that was about. I anticipated some feeling of nostalgia of the kind of girl I used to be, I thought the memoirs of the days, of all the problems I had would be "cute and sweet", and how I would feel disappointment - yet again - for wasting time in my adolescence and childhood, and not being able to stand up for myself. And then - since past is not going anywhere anyway, there're no rush in getting my hands on the archive, right?


Expectation vs Reality.


I could not make my way through 3 note pads of diaries. Some of those events would come back to me other than from my diaries, but in hindsight - it was one big endless groundhog day, which I'm trying to dilute with escaping to books and my own world as much as possible. There were occasional trips to very nice places, but they still left me feeling like inside of a fish tank: you're in a wonderful place, but fully dependent on family's agenda, mood swings and perception of comme il faut behavior. Except, perhaps, two trips to summer camp where if I saw an opportunity within hand reach - I could actually grab it.
 Hundreds of pages - probably -  talking in very details, although never directly,  about dead ends, solitude, sickness, sadness, rejection, lack of support, lack of direction in life.

Needless to say that brought up no nostalgia and no sweet feelings of younger self. It definitely raised some immediate anger, frustration and intention to push forward harder now, to use all the resources I have and to make sure I do not waste a day. Since I have already lost so many of them in first 16 years of my life, and you never know, in what... Afganistan I could be born in my next life :)