I was a shy kid while growing up, reluctant to share my feelings. The burden of a million vivid thoughts was too much to carry on my tender shoulders. Writing a journal was a way to give my mind some rest. It was an escape I needed from my mundane life to a whole new world of imagination and freedom.
I kept a journal when I had nobody to tell my stories to.
I kept a journal when there was no place else to write my words.
I kept a journal when my family was on the verge of breaking apart.
I kept a journal when I was unaware of myself.
I kept a journal when I needed something to laugh at in the near future.
My journal was my friend when I had none, it was me when I wasn’t being myself. My journal was the missing words whenever I felt mum. My journal was my home when I felt I don’t belong. My journal was the light I was looking for in the dark and a joke hiding in the words written years ago on a bad day!