Reflection on My Childhood Diaries - Special Academic Support

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As I held a book with a worn green cover, prominently labeled Secret! Do not open! and filled with pages of chicken scratches and crude sketches, memories rushed back of the many evenings I spent diligently writing in my childhood diary.

I kept a diary from mid-elementary school up until early high school, filling almost eight complete volumes. Yet rereading my old diary entries, I often ask myself: Why, exactly, did I decide to keep a diary? What had I hoped to gain from this? My earliest diary entries were more a type of lifeless accounting. I chronicled only the mundane details of day-to-day life, such as what time I woke up or what I ate for lunch, while omitting any hint of introspection. This frustrates me, and I want to ask my past self, But why did you write this down? or How did you feel about this?. The truth is, at the time, I was afraid of forgetting things. If I didnt write it down, how would I know in ten years that I had eaten a burrito for lunch? My diary was, in a way, proof that I existed. However, my favorite entries come from my mid-diary writing career. Inspired by books such as Diary of a Wimpy Kid, Dear Dumb Diary, and Anne of Green Gables, I started infusing more emotional depth into my writing. I love reading my entries from this period because some of them are absurdly hilarious. For instance, one of my entries finishes with the declaration I will never ever ever ever ever talk to [person] ever again!, with each ever spanning an entire page, yet the very next entry begins with So [person] and I made up today. I also gradually discovered the cathartic function of writing: I would write purely to vent my emotions. However, the result was an endless chain of pessimistic entries in which I would gloss over anything positive because it simply wasnt worth venting about.

I often like to reflect on how my habit of keeping a diary has affected me today. When I was younger, keeping a diary helped foster my interest in writing and reading. It also was a source of enjoyment for me, not only because I was able to destress and release negative emotions, but also because there is a certain thrill in putting your secret opinions on paper. Today, rereading my diary is a humbling experience, which genuinely changes my perception of myself. I am always surprised by my character development throughout the pages, though I am simultaneously horrified by how immature and senseless I sometimes sound. It helps me recognize my flaws which I can only see clearly by putting time between my past and present self. At the same time, my diary gives me hope that I will continue to grow, and that someday I will look back at todays diary entries and feel the same embarrassment as I do now when I read my childhood diary.

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