I have secrets scattered in my room hidden between the quiet spaces of my diaries. They're tossed everywhere, sometimes lying where I've dropped it years ago. It takes an eternity to fill one up, so far I go through one every five years. The one I'm working on now started in 2010, so it has roughly about two more years of putting up with me.

This is how I chronicle my life and to never forget those random days that mean nothing then, but ages well like fine wine through time.

Example:
August 15, 2010:
I have a little bit of time to waste before having to go to Ama's house for dinner so I decided to write here for a bit. Leo is coming back tomorrow and I am on vacation from work this week, I also have an exam to study for on Thursday.

Last Friday, I had lunch with Christine Yen and Hannah. Christine left to attend another year of her training, and we saw her just in time. We had lunch at Mr. Sub before Hannah and I went to Cecil to study. Hannah had to practice for her piano exam. We were there for a while before we had to go to Metro and buy snacks for Light House.

This week is the last week of our small group! This has been the best small group I've ever had, and everyone in the group is awesome. Unfortunately, I am am stuck with John for another year and I'm not in the same group as Tabitha :(

But yeah. After Light house we went to Ka Chi, then went home. It was a really long day. Next week is the Gr. 12 BBQ, how do I invite Matty to go there?

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Chronicling life like this has helped me distinguish patterns and trends. For example, I've discovered that all of my major life events happen in May: I started this diary in May, this important person's bday is in May, I begun going out with so and so in May, I got a job in May, etc. The most dramatic moments happen from September - January, and February is a month for loosing friendships. My happiest times are usually from June to August.  

In middle school and high school, I wrote in three different diaries simultaneously: One for my deep dark secrets, one for the journal I felt pity for and couldn't bear to not use up, one for my friends to read, and another for my imaginative conversations.

I love these diaries. Sometimes I go through periods of months of not writing anything, only to feel like my head is heavy with memories I keep replaying. So I jot them down. Sometimes, I rewrite these memories and blog about them later. Mostly, I love them because I will never forget the moments I felt the most emotion, those times when you're crying and can't understand why, and the tears translate themselves into jumbled chicken scratch on paper. I look back and later realize these moments are caused by my family, that they're the ones who make me so frustrated and hopeless that the very seams of my fingers feel like they will explode.

Then there are the moments when you feel like you have to talk to someone but there's no one. This is when I get romantic and write them down so that I can later on share them with my husband, that one and only other person my 9 year old self decided would be the allowed to read my diary. Every one else will be locked up for trespassing on my thoughts.

Looking back, the reason I even began writing in diaries was when I discovered my mom's diary. When she was first married, she started one which went up to the time after my first birthday. I would read it and be boggled by my mom's humanity; that this person who conceived me had real thoughts and juvenile handwriting. Later my sister took over the diary and filled up the rest of the pages, which was a shame but Annabelle was always the better speller, so it didn't really matter to me.