The power of written words

“The strongest memory is weaker than the palest ink.”

When we part from something or someone that we were attached to, we tend to shed a few tears. We think back to all the memories that are linked with that person or that place. We promise that we will always remember it, always and forever. And when we make that promise, we mean it in all sincerity. However, as we grow up, we forget. We forget those long phone conversations, we forget the irrelevant dramas, we forget – or wish to forget – the embarrassing mishaps. Until a little piece of our past hits us – maybe in the form of a familiar song, maybe an old photograph – and it all comes rushing back to us.

Memories are our gateway to the past, and I am obsessed with preserving them. I keep the photographs, letters, greeting cards, everything that takes me back to a certain time and place. They are like little time portals hidden in my cupboard, ready to take me back whenever I am in the mood to escape to a forgotten time. The most important time portals, for me, are my personal journals. Writing has always been my favourite thing to do. You can hand me a piece of paper, a pen and put me in a lonely atmosphere, and my hand starts recording thoughts as if it has a life of its own.

If I had a dollar for every time someone asked me something like “Why do you keep a diary?” or “how do you have the patience?” I would be pretty freaking rich. To all those who have ever asked me that, this is what I have to say:

 First of all, as I’ve said earlier, I am obsessed with memories. Of course, this doesn’t mean that we hold on so tight to our memories that we are afraid to move forward. Life is just as much about making memories as it is about preserving them. Don’t live in the past but live with the past. I love the notion of a memory pressed between the pages of a book, hidden in the words of a familiar handwriting, ready to be relived anytime.

Secondly, writing is an excellent way to de-stress. At times, when I feel like there’s too much on my mind to speak out or I think someone probably won’t understand what I am trying to say, my diary is always lying in my drawer, ready to listen without judging or questioning me. It is an excellent forum to record my thoughts, dreams, wishes and fears. There are also times when there are so many thoughts crammed into my little head that they start to push outwards and pour onto the pages of my diary. Writing my thoughts helps organise the clutter in my mind.

However, the most important role that a journal plays in the long run is that it makes you realise how much you have changed as a person. As we are repeatedly told in history text books, “your past helps you understand you present better.”  I couldn’t agree more. Your past defines your present, and pushes you towards the future. I truly believe that every experience that I have had will play a little role in shaping the person that I will ultimately become. The words that fill the pages of a book from years ago are written by someone familiar, yet someone completely different. Reading an old diary helps you understand yourself better; it examines the reasons why you became what you’ve become.

Yesterday I took out my diaries from 3 years ago, got warm under a blanket and started reading them. As I read my old diaries, it felt like I am watching myself grow all over again. I got an external view about myself. Even though the diaries had been written from my point of view and I had tried to justify my actions in all situations, reading them a few years later allowed me to understand a different point of view. A point of view that I didn’t even know existed at the time of writing those words. Reading those incidents and emotions trapped on the paper, it made me laugh at my silliness and there were moments when I was appalled to see how mindless I could have been sometimes. I used to freak out over the stupidest things, I didn’t have a clear thinking process and I always twisted simple things and complicated them. I lacked presence of mind, perspective and even a backbone. I used to get influenced very easily by others’ opinions and I let their views about me affect the way I looked at myself. At one point, we’ve all been someone that we wished we hadn’t been. But does the past always point out our shortcomings? Can they just highlight all the things that were wrong with you? Or is it possible that they lead you back to where you’ve belonged all along?

Yes, it’s true that when I read my personal thoughts, there was a part of me that wanted to time travel to the past and talk some sense into the Old Me. I have realised that I was a different person; I used to freak out over the stupidest things, overuse exclamation marks beyond the point of necessity, jump to conclusions and do things without thinking about their consequences. I have realised that I used to be unreasonable, insecure and sometimes self centred. But most importantly, I have realised that in this process of growing up, I have pushed away the one person that meant the world to me back then, and still does. All this time, while I was occupied with my personal growth and what-not I forgot that the person I was trying to run away from was the person that I had always belonged to. Growing up doesn’t always mean leaving your past mistakes behind and evolving into better things. It doesn’t always mean wiping the slate clean off the past and letting go. Sometimes, growing up means being able to distinguish those people who were just a phase in your life from those people who will always stand by you. It means recognising which part of your past is worth being carried into the future; recognising that one person that has always been your safe haven. It means remembering what you always knew but had just forgotten along the way. As I turned the last page of the last dairy, I finally understood where it is – or more specifically, with who it is – that I truly belong.