Blogathon 2012 – May 24. On the pages of my journal

Writing has been an integral part of my life since I was about seven years old. I think it began with seeing my parents, especially my mother, lost in books. I fancied seeing my face on the cover of a book, telling stories of my life.

I don’t remember why or how or when it began but I choked up and grew silent in tense situations but was always moved to respond by writing. When my mother scolded me, I responded with a letter of apology and/or a written explanation. That habit followed me through to my adult life. People didn’t care to read the letters I wrote under troubling, angry and painful circumstances.
“What’s this?” was their usual reaction/response, which made me feel foolish and angry. Still, I couldn’t manage to get a word past my lips. In fact, their dismissive questions and disparaging remarks succeeded only in cementing my silence, which angered them further,
Some of the journals that hold the stories of my life 

In time, although my silence continued, I stopped writing my letters and switched to pouring out my feelings in my journals. 

If you asked how journaling has impacted my life, I’d say:

On its pages, I discover answers to troubling questions.

On its pages, I understand the circumstances in my life, the issues that plague me, my relationships and my dreams. 
On its pages, I brainstorm solutions to problems, make decisions and devise actions to move those decisions forward. 
On its pages, I deposit bits and pieces of my own life experiences and life in general. 
On its pages, I decipher the hidden reasons behind my fears, why I procrastinate and feel blocked with my writing and the real stories behind the stories I feel compelled to write.
I suppose, in a sense, I can say that it is on the pages of my journal that I live the deep aspects of my life. 
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