I never thought I’d start a diary again. In a foreign place, in a foreign language. But that’s better, because for me writing was always about escaping and being with myself alone. I am not a writer; it’s just that words are the only available tool for me.
A couple of times I was told that my messages look more like diaries than like simple talking. This way of expressing thoughts suits me better than anything, because these are not merely conversations with certain people, but half conversations with myself. A way of exploring myself. But terrorising people with my writing brings discomfort, so it’s time to transfer the reflections somewhere secluded. This place will be my hideaway for now.
Sometimes I even regret deleting my previous diary two years ago. There were feelings, memories; some I don’t want to remember, some I still keep. But past is past. I should look ahead, not behind.
Probably I am already too old for diaries. Too old for a lot of things, but still not old enough for a lot more. This year should have been just the moment of crossing a border between me and most other people, but as time goes by, I find out that it’s crucial in many other aspects. There are decisions, there’s responsibility — I have to take them all now. But I need a place to take a breather and reflect.
The concept of a daily story doesn’t appeal to me, because thoughts don’t wait for a special moment to concentrate in a daily conclusion. They flow and develop, and whenever the idea comes to me, it has to be implemented. There should be no limitations, no deadlines in talking to myself.
This first entry is a kind of readme. To keep a reminder of what this all is about. If I stay here for long, I’ll need it to get back and remember.
Hello, Dear Diary. See you later.