Boys Shouldn't Own a Pink Notebook, Let Alone a Pink Diary
Boys shouldn't own a pink notebook, let alone a pink diary.
That thought boomed in my head when mini-me showed my mother what I wanted her to buy. Small. Hardbound. Cute (with a padlock and a pair of keys). And more expensive than the regular notebook. She gave one look at me, whether it was disgust or amusement I could no longer remember. The next thing I knew we were headed home with my very first diary.
I was in 1st grade, if I recall correctly. Owning a personal diary was a bit of a childhood fad in our class then. But it wasn't just a craze to me. Something about the act of writing (physically) beyond textbooks and homework appealed to my naive spirit (little did I know). That's why when I saw the pricey, pink diary in the bookstore, I fell in love.
In the pages of that journal went my first crush, my silly nightmares, a tale or two about our pet, and other kiddie things I have no way of remembering anymore.
The journal has long been gone from my possession. I couldn't recall any replacement for the diary during the many years that followed until my writing career started. I tried journaling again.
Thoughts. Emotions. Schedules. Plans. Goals. Bucket lists. Dreams. Poetry. And even plot of a novel. Them all went in my journal.
Now I'm introducing a new category here in my blog - the JOURNAL category. Why? I don't want my blog to only consist of how-to's, listicles, or preachy entries. I want to take my blogging to the next level by putting more raw, on-the-fly, and less image-conscious post. It's the still the same sharing of the writing journey only in different clothing. Not the suit and tie but a black t-shirt and faded jeans instead.
I still journal. The pink has evolved. It has turned red.