Diary For No One

...Life that has not started

01-11-2021

Dear Diary,

What is life?

This question is one of the many that circulates around, asking people to answer it but when no one can, it slaps you across face. Barking that you are not qualified enough to answer it. That only those never-seen-before faces of dudes in 80s that you see on YouTube can answer this question.

Now out of the three qualifications (i.e. 80 year old, male and a never-seen-before-face) I only qualify the last one. But still I find myself perfectly capable of answering the aforementioned question:

It's not what I have been living for past two years.

You'd know what I am talking about if you were with me on late night calls trying to turn an awkward conversation into the ones we had before this pandemic befall upon us. But since you weren't let me give you a detailed context on why I think my definition of life stands on a stable ground.

The definition:

Life is not what I had been living till now.

But the question that I can answer or maybe not is:

Who am I?

I am someone, 16 year old with laser cut on hair (that makes me feel very pretty).

I am a girl who has a diary with black cover which tolerates or has tolerated my entries with chicken feet words for 2 months until a particularly sad one one on my 16th birthday.

I am a human whose world starts with my bed and ends at room's door, who is selfish and very-not perfectly imperfect.

I am a nerd who is hell bent on not having a teeth braces unless they are transparent (or whatever the proper term for it is?)

I am a self-proclaimed book addict who even after having a decade long experience, completed The Book Thief in a month.

Who are you?

You are a page in an online blog who I will address as dear diary.

You are a collection of words that I try to convince myself: I am writing for me and not deliberately trying to share my story with strangers.

You are a white screen that people may scroll down in distant or more preferably near future, and then scrunch their noses at extremely cheesy words of this girl-who-has-a-laser-cut.

You are something that will be nothing in few years when a 20 year old no-laser cut me will read you and inevitably cringe badly enough to erase you from existence.

So the inexcusable conclusion is: I am writing you for no one.

You are a diary for no one. 

   

Music for today: Fly(acoustic) by Meadowlark