Happy Birthday, Dear Diary

Dear Diary,

Happy 6th birthday.

You started as a custom-made sewn notebook father made from office papers for rough use. You changed forms, but you remained the same reluctant companion for my troubled thoughts.

When I see your first form, I see a life long consigned to nostalgic oblivion, a life of lost childhood ideals, of chess excursions, petty, superficial acquaintances (especially girls) which seemed so important at that time, anger and pain which I thought had scarred me for life. Life which consisted of free roaming, eager discovering of worlds, people, knowledge and meaning of success (happiness seemed a not-so-important commodity back then). I see first buds of love breaking forth, filling me with unspeakable, strangely exhilarating emotions, which engulfed me, inspiring, driving, confusing, yet all the more exciting, in all its innocent, and ignorant, glory.

When I see your first form, I see my first friendships, the ones in which I had great trust in. Once again, ‘innocence and ignorance’ come to mind. They go hand in hand. Everything seems good in one’s own innocence and ignorance. ‘Nothing could break us apart,’ we said to each other. We saw dreams of future life, riding high on the waves of idealism, hoping to walk¬†uncharted¬†paths with formidable courage, battling against the world(the world was the enemy), upholding our philosophy and ideals at every step, with eternal, lonely glory as our reward. And we were happy. Ah, how wrong we were. Because none of us saw, that idealism has its own contradictions, and philosophy isn’t as simple and monolithic as it seemed. It was but a castle of sand which came crashing down in the first winds of autumn. We upheld our ideals, but our ideals became conflicting. You, my friend, are upholding your ideals, walking your way, in your world. I’m doing the same. But, the world is no longer the enemy, it’s just the spectator. You, are the enemy. I don’t know if you’ve realized it or not. Betrayal was the lesson I learnt from you, but only too late.

I see love, being born, and blossoming in its adolescence. Ah, the innocence. With these eyes, now set in stone, tearless, I see myself 5 years back, when the petals were fresh and pink, watching helplessly as I get swept in the storm of emotions which took me places, which broke my heart, revived it again, and took me to some more places. I see the rose blossoming. I see it being cast aside, and I see me thinking it’s all over. Of course, I didn’t know, that it’s time will come, it’ll blossom again. And it will take me to many more, much more beautiful and also many ugly, places. And it will eventually succumb to the poisonous winds, wither and die. Your’s was the first name I wrote in my diary. At least this fact will never change.

I am now at a different place, with different people, with different thoughts. It was just the beginning. When I look back, I see life, which was so fragile. Bringing together various pieces of life, basking in the sunshine of innocence and ignorance for a few moments, only to watch them shatter in the first storm. Collecting new pieces all over again, setting up a new picture, and start living again…

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