Beneath this Mask

Her Journal

She’s writing again. 

After months of keeping her journal in one of those boxes inside her closet, she found herself opening it again, ready to pour every emotion she had been hiding deep inside her in every blank page of that notebook. Opening her journal was like accepting the fact the she had to write again not because she’s bored, not because it was her hobby, but because it was the only way to let go her pain. Because writing was her only option to express her pain. No one was there to listen. No one was there to console her at her breaking point. It was just her and her journal and her twisted thoughts and emotions.

Her journal, the only present she received from her mother in her 7th birthday, was supposed to be a collection of happy thoughts and memories, just like what her life is supposed to be. But it wasn’t. Instead, it was filled with words describing the black and white days of her life, those dull and boring school hours, those insecurities that she had been trying to cope up, those negative thoughts in her mind that she had been fighting to ignore. Every doubts, fears and insecurities of her as a teen and now as a young adult were scribbled in that very same journal. As writing was her way to help herself to go on in her messed up life. It's her safe haven, her own piece of heaven here on earth and her own sanctuary.