Winter
[20251210-1522]
I totally forgot about this blog. Turns out my diary has been enough, somewhat. People think diaries are for girls and women. As a woman, or so I'll say because I really don't want to analyse my gender until after I have my degree, I don't think that's the whole case. I say this because I was thinking to myself, "When does a diary become a journal?" Probably when you start losing hope. Maybe. I'm not sure. Those self-improvement people don't keep diaries. They keep journals full of their plans and highs and lows. Maybe a diary is addressed by name where a journal is a tool. Maybe a diary is a friend. My journal is not quite my friend. A confidant certainly. But I don't think I should be able to look into the eyes of my friend and see nothing but the ugliest parts of me. But maybe that's that hope I was talking about. Maybe I'm hoping that my friends wouldn't see me as the monster that my journal sees me as. Gets to see me as. I vlog a little bit more too. I cycle through means of venting. I primarily journal and talk to myself or call my mother. Somewhat recently, I have taken to vlogging as a substitute for leaving my ramblings to voice memo. And still, sometimes, I find myself venting on my laptop when I'm supposed to be doing homework. I have many a prose or poem that I vainly believe should be preserved in print so I may satisfy my unshakeable need to be known. Not that I know anyone else. But I find I am being known. People are getting to know me. I did not prepare myself for this--despite fantasizing about it so often. I thought I knew people but really I know the idea of people. And I'm monstrous for it. Kafka's diary, by the way, is an example of diaries not only being for women. I would daresay many a man kept a diary, given that, for a time, it was really just men who were "permitted" to be literate. And men are such emotional creatures that they start wars and build empires as a testimony to their feelings and desires. And yet, in all their emotion, he cannot bring himself to display his vulnerability for one evening. An evening I ought to forget, but will forever remember as the sign of life in a relationship that never was.
