Dear Diary: June 25th

Dear Diary,

Today is June 25th, it’s raining. The clouds hang in the sky, so dark and heavy I actually think that they may end up just falling. Ha, that would be funny, wouldn’t it? Falling clouds. It reminds me of that movie – Chicken Run. “The sky is falling!” If only. Imagine if the sky could fall though? And we could save one thing, what would that thing be? If someone asked me that same question, I wouldn’t know how to answer them. If the sky fell down, and we had a chance to save one thing, would we not save ourselves? These questions never seemed to make sense to me.

I guess you know now that this is my first diary I have ever kept. Is it weird, keeping a diary? I don’t know if John, or Jayne, Liam or Max keep a diary. I wouldn’t say Max would ever keep one; he just doesn’t strike me as the person who would do something like that. Show his feelings. Show expression, even. The twins – they’re John and Jayne, Jayne being the older one by exactly 21 minutes. She gives herself the privilege of throwing that one out whenever they have to decide something between them. But I’m the older one, I get to choose! Liam on the other hand... I don’t think I even know him anymore, I’d say he’s changed, but that could be me either. I mean, don’t get me wrong, we were close once upon a time, but everyone knows life isn’t a fairytale. We grew distant, forgot to call on Saturdays like we used to, and didn’t tell each other secrets. I don’t even see him that much anyways, since he’s always with Carly, the blonde bimbo who he somehow found impressive. I don’t even see why they are still together – he seems unhappy with something whenever they’re together – which is most of the time. Dump her and get it over and done with? Not with Liam.

I think that I may be going on a rant now, but isn’t that what diaries are for? Dumping out all of you feelings? It’s weird, it’s like talking to someone else but there isn’t anyone else here. Maybe it’s like writing down all of your inner monologues, so that way, years later, you get to look back and see everything you went through, your regrets, your moments of happiness, memories of those you thought you’d know forever. Maybe I have started this diary thing too late. I already have so many moments of regret, some which aren’t that pretty, even if I say so myself. There are already people who I’ve lost, but I thought I’d always be closed to – Liam. I have moments of happiness, or maybe should I say had? What’s a tense anyway but a dimension? Length, breadth, depth, time. It’s only a calculation, its variable doesn’t matter, really. Ten years ago, two years ago, last Monday; what’s the difference if each memory is still as clear as day? Nothing.

I guess at this point I should be describing myself, but would I not just be describing myself to myself? What’s the logic behind it, I don’t get. Maybe, when I’m older, years from now, I’ll have changed my hair colour so much, I’ll forget what its natural state was. I have blonde hair –dirty blonde – that does down to my elbows. It’s all curly though, so during the odd time I do have it straightened, it flows down to my waist. Well, on second thought, I suppose my hair isn’t that curly. I hold it in my hand and see it like a curled ribbon. The problem with it is that it’s thick, so it gets into knots really quickly. Mum tries to convince me to cut it since half the time I refuse to brush it, but without my hair, what else do I have?

I like to think that maybe in my future I will have it cut really short and have it dyed a deep brown with pink highlights through it. I like to think that maybe I will keep my fringe but instead of square glasses, change to violet contact lenses, because they would go with the pink hair. Is it weird wanting your eyes to match your hair? People have called me mad before, but I like to think that it is they, who are mad, and it is only me who has their glasses off, so I am able to see properly for once, instead of just seeing a pretty picture with perfect lips and smooth, clear edges. Without the glasses, I can see the rough edges, but no one else can. Sometimes I get lonely in my real world and I really want some company, but they are all busy at Carly’s weekly parties on Saturday nights. The ones that no one gets back from until late the next morning, having lost a lot more than just their mobile phones. The ones I somehow never get invited to. But as if I would go.

I sound like a loner to myself. Haha. Would it surprise you if I said I have three hundred friends on the all-important, immaculate social network known as Facebook? I know a lot of people, and they think they know me, but do they? Nah, I think I would first have to understand why I think like I do before others can. But since this is a diary, and no one will ever be reading it except me, it is safe to say that there was some person once, who I could talk to about all these things, lying out on the old bed sheet in the garden beside the lake, counting the stars. Telling stories about every single one we saw until we fell asleep. About how, when a giant spider managed to crawl into our tent in the barn full of centuries old bales of hay, we didn’t scream and stamp it with our feet, but called it Jerry, and then spending the rest of the night making a house for Jerry, because there wasn’t enough room in ours for a third visitor. Plus, if Jerry ever needed some place to go when he was cold, he would go to his house made of old plastic bottles cut open with rusty garden scissors and sticks holding up pieces of cardboard to make a gate for the almighty fort.

Should I say that person’s name? Maybe you already have it figured out.

*

It is English class now and I have decided to write in this old copy again. Maybe I will keep it is as a diary. Who knows?

I wrote that first pt this morning on the bus, and I feel kind of lonely without having something to put my thoughts into. Have you ever felt like you are about to burst, that you need to get something out so quickly, but there is no one to help you get it out? Well that’s how I feel sometimes – I have problems taking too much information in sometimes. It scares me. Or maybe it is these thoughts that scare me? But what is the difference between my thoughts and me? How can you hate one but love the other at the same time? It doesn’t work, no matter what they tell you about equilibrium. One side will always be bigger, one that will always win.

Would it scare me to come back to this, years from now and say that a knife didn’t look quite that scary at times? I see how they do it, it’s not that hard. They get satisfaction from it, as if the words that couldn’t come out still came out, but through a different way. Highways. Motorways. Windy mountain roads, call them what you want. They are a passage for some people, maybe even me one day. But for now, I try hard to smile for everyone, because it confuses them, it confuses me, it confuses the teacher who is looking at me with her creased eyebrows wondering why I am smiling like an idiot now while we are meant to be writing an debate about teen suicide. Hey, I’ll smile if I like, if I want to. So I show her my pearly whites and she slightly freaks and turns down to her work, her pen feverishly scribbling on a piece of paper. Mrs Doyle, you always have been one erratic little lady.

Ugh, why is it that whenever you want something so badly, you have to wait for it? Is it a test of endurance, or just the universe’s way of laughing at you because it got bored of watching aliens play Call of Duty with some naive humans in Japan? Whatever the reason, it is just plain old annoying.

And there it goes - the bell for next class, or should I say, lunch. I’ll probably write more later, I need to pack up my stuff. Talk to you whenever, Diary ( aka Me).

~ K