Tracing the Diary

It was few weeks ago, a friend mentioned that she had some photos, letters and a diary from my ex. She was decorating the house and getting rid of things but thought this one may be something I am interested to have. I immediately agreed. She has mentioned it before and I thought it would be a nice way to embrace forgiveness and fall in love with that part of myself that I have rejected for so long.

I haven't heard from my ex for a long time. In my mind I have dealt with it through my dreams, stories I shared with K, my desires, my learnings and my work. Near the time when I received the call I have interpreted my past as something I should and have to suffer for. I couldn't move past the judgment that I should've known better what to do at the time, that choices I made were wrong, that I was naive... My coach said I was a Tragic Heroine. That shook me out of Poor Me drama and I got my smile back, joy in my heart was letting me know that I choose life. Mind got the signal and was conquered for a bit but then I realized it was timid just for a while.

It was nice to see my friend. We've known each other since 1993, worked together, partied together. If you are ever in Beijing visit Bookworm (http://www.beijingbookworm.com/), for a good read, writing emails on your laptop, cup of coffee, interesting talk. You'll see her there doing her dream. Very inspiring.

Amidst the boxes and subtle chaos of the apartment she showed me a shoe box where everything was. On the top there was a big envelope with my name and ex's address on it. We lived together at the time. I glanced at the photos underneath and was amazed to dig out swerve of emotions. Neurons were shooting light arrows into places that I covered with darkness. One spark and here it goes - everything is back again. Images start moving, expanding blending into a movie and then STOP. I looked at the envelope wondering what would the first page of her diary say. What kind of message will be there? From the kitchen my friend was glancing at me while making coffee. I know she has seen all the photos and read parts of the diary too. I am shy for a bit and then skip to the blue book. It looks familiar but I still didn't get it.

I opened the first page. It says: '88. I feel this year started very well. MY HANDWRITING! "This is my diary!" I shout to my friend and she's as bewildered as I am.

This blue book, protected from dust by the envelope, gave me an insight: the journey that I buried in regret was actually a love story, the book of dreams and shy comments of internal world. It was in Serbian mostly, some letters in English, few photos, plane and theater tickets, book quotes... my adolescent life, 18 - the best year yet, the year to remember, the year to relive. And it says: I feel this year started very well.