It isn't often that I have the opportunity to write in a diary, much less to even speak about how I feel. It's been ingrained in me from a young child that no matter how much I wish to speak I should always remain silent, float like paper on the wind. I would often refer to myself as a selective mute which in truth I was, (I could only speak to a handful of people) and was often complimented on my meekness. I found this old diary in an antique shop on the verge of closing down. Its brown cover sewed by hand (I was told) and the engraved R on the right side that reminded me of my name.
I'm not anything special at all. So don't think I'll be telling you of how I fight dragons and scare princes into giving up their virginities. I'm just me. A plain old gyal. Bruck Gyal. I feel old even though I'm not. I'm just at the ripe age of 19, almost fresh into adulthood.
I feel like I ought to call you Alexander, simply because I'm in love with that name. I often imagine that if I were to ever meet an Alexander, he would be white and handsome with hair as dark as night and emerald eyes. Of course you would be a little sadistic because why not? I think this might feel a little racist. Would it though....? I have only ever met a handful of white people in my life and they all looked the same. Blonde and Blue, Blonde and Blue.
I'm a bit busy now I must admit and I don't have the time to talk to you, As I'm sitting here , I'm staring at the mango tree outside my window wishing that all the blossoms would blow off. I hate mango.
Sincerely Rema xox
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The Diary of Rema Williams
General FictionThis is the personal life story of Rema Williams. Bringing to life all her experiences from the very beginning to the end. Watch her blossom like a flower.
