I'm currently listening to Aya Kamiki while encoding something. Suddenly, her "Youthful Diary" is playing. This song is about a girl's memories of yesteryear's love. She reminisces about the first time she enters a relationship, with the lyrics "初めてだった繋いだ手も 不器用で少し強引だったね". The clumsiness and awkwardness of a first-time lover. Also, Kamiki sings of the first breakup, that day when "手を離した あの日の記憶", the pain a girl goes through following the end of a juvenile romance.
And perhaps I should do the same, preserve my memories in writing. (Well, that's why I have this blog.) Because there are memories which are too precious to be forgotten. Memories, after all, are fragile. I also do not want to mix my fantasies with what really happened. I want my memories to reflect the past as it is. I want to have a log of how I felt on those moments, whether I was down, giddy, happy, or what. Feelings are fleeting anyway, I only want to have something to remind me that, hey, this something made me so alive, made me see the world in a whole new different way.
I used to have a diary. My undergraduate years were sufficiently recorded, spanning nine volumes. Yes, I love to write. I write about my day. I write about the people who have helped me, those who made me feel loved and important. Also, I write about the people who have hurt me, those who let me down. After graduation I read them and I laugh at myself. I couldn't believe how shallow I was as a person, easily hurt, easy to please. Having all those memories written on paper made me a very reflective person. Sometimes when I feel like going extreme as a sentimental being, I would open my treasure box and enter my past. My frustrations, my dreams, my fantasies, my aspirations, my happiness, my sorrows, broken hearts, everything about me.
As for those memories in graduate school, I will have to put them where the prying eyes of the public cannot see. I'm buying one of those thick notebooks later.
And perhaps I should do the same, preserve my memories in writing. (Well, that's why I have this blog.) Because there are memories which are too precious to be forgotten. Memories, after all, are fragile. I also do not want to mix my fantasies with what really happened. I want my memories to reflect the past as it is. I want to have a log of how I felt on those moments, whether I was down, giddy, happy, or what. Feelings are fleeting anyway, I only want to have something to remind me that, hey, this something made me so alive, made me see the world in a whole new different way.
I used to have a diary. My undergraduate years were sufficiently recorded, spanning nine volumes. Yes, I love to write. I write about my day. I write about the people who have helped me, those who made me feel loved and important. Also, I write about the people who have hurt me, those who let me down. After graduation I read them and I laugh at myself. I couldn't believe how shallow I was as a person, easily hurt, easy to please. Having all those memories written on paper made me a very reflective person. Sometimes when I feel like going extreme as a sentimental being, I would open my treasure box and enter my past. My frustrations, my dreams, my fantasies, my aspirations, my happiness, my sorrows, broken hearts, everything about me.
As for those memories in graduate school, I will have to put them where the prying eyes of the public cannot see. I'm buying one of those thick notebooks later.
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