Have you had your daily dose of diary today?
A few weeks back, my Doodad gave me a call.
“Tesz, I finally managed to clean the garage. I’ve got some boxes with your name on them. Come pick them up.”
When I decided to take a leap of faith and move to Germany back in ’02, I had a treasure chest full of diaries, yearbook, letters, and knick-knacks that had trailed me from my single digits into my double twos. For some reason, I had split them between my mother and father. Probably a repercussion of their long-awaited divorce that ensued that same year.
When I took flight to good ol’ Europa, my mom held onto my beautiful, hand-carved wooden chest from Indonesia, brimming with prepubescent, Junior High memories. My dad had loosely inherited the other half of my memorabilia. I had since collected the wooden cradle from my mom, and inadvertently accused her of holding onto the very same stuff I recently found lingering in my Doodad’s garage several years later. (I know… I can be a pretty sh&*%y daughter at times.)
Anyways, I finally made the trek over to my Doodad’s place and picked up 5 dusty boxes, having no idea what was inside. Old ghosts? Embarrassing proof of my nerdhood? Old papers I would rather leave forgotten?
To my delight, the papers I thought my mother were holding as ransom at last saw the light of day for the first time in probably 10+ years. Old love letters and gifts of promise. My wrinkled music score from “Miss Saigon,” documenting hours of learning an entire musical in German while having no idea what I was really saying. Photo albums of a girl group eaten up by the heartless teeth of Los Angeles.
And then, there they were. My diaries. Oh… the countless pages of moments experienced, thoughts processed, ideas lost to time. My memory account was at last complete. And they now stand together in my office cabinets, sleeping like muted giants, bursting with the stories of a 6-year-old girl, a 15-year-old pop star, a confused 29-year-old, and a stubborn 33-year-old.
I love writing. I love documenting my life. I enjoy writing for clients because it feels like I’m actually journaling for them. It’s capturing a moment. A movement. A miracle. One word, one letter at a time. It’s power will forever stand the test of time. And make each one of us immortal.