I looked at the dusty pile. It was almost the new year. I might as well clear up all of this. Sure, I could do it some other day, but I would never do it. So I would do it now. Yay.
I hated the dust. It was dirty and, well, dusty. Heaving a sigh, I roughly dusted the pile and nudged them off each other. They were crudely piled, and then I saw it.
The journal.
My journal, from when I was little.
What's so surprising about that? You might wonder that, but you wouldn't understand the shock that rippled through me. I never realised that I had a journal of my past self. It's the workload, I decided. I was so busy that never a single thought of keeping a journal had crossed my mind before. Well, whatever.
Dusting the journal, I picked it up and gently turned the page. A horrible smell of old paper wafted around and I wrinkled my nose in disgust. But the journal was more important than getting away from the smell. I gaped.
Written on the front page in ugly handwriting was, 'Who am I?'
The most important question in the world. Who am I? Who was I? Who had I been? I wondered and pondered but found no answer. Impatient to discover who I had been, I flipped to the next page. It was filled with an ugly drawing of nothing and something at the same time. Peering closer, I read out a couple of random letters. Why in the world would I write that?
The rest of the journal was nonsense. Well, after all, it was from when I was only five to six years old. After that I had matured more.
I stared at the pages. Was that really me? Had that been me? I couldn't imagine. Strike that, I couldn't remember a scrap of my early childhood. My first memory was that of my eighth year on the Earth, and it wasn't good.
I closed my eyes and breathed in deep, barely managing to ignoring the smell. And then it hit me.
From my drawer I took out a fresh notebook. I opened it gingerly and started writing in beautiful, flowing script.
The person you were yesterday
may not be the person you are today.
The person you are today
may not be the person you are tomorrow.
