When I was in university, I kept a journal chronicling, among other things, my thoughts, struggles, hopes and dreams. Even though I didn’t have a lot to say most of the time, I did have something to say pretty regularly. As the years passed and I graduated, the entries became less frequent, and now I wonder if I will ever be able to fill the entire notebook.
In April this year, I decided to archive all those writings online. Just in case I ever lost the hard copy. And so I began the laborious process, typing out entries that dated back to 2003. It’s been an interesting journey, reading my reflections from so long ago, when I was a very different person living in a very different place. Sometimes I come across something I can hardly believe I wrote, other times I remember every detail of writing a particular entry.
I met my now-husband during those years, although there is no record of him until much later on in our relationship. There doesn’t seem to have been much contemplation as far as my love life was concerned – not even when we went long-distance during my final year of uni – which could have been either a good thing or a bad thing. I must have totally lucked out on this one.
And then I found an entry I penned shortly before I graduated, written one morning in bed. I was thinking about all my experiences of the past years and where I was heading next. I wrote about my dreams for my then-relationship and my dreams of where my passion would take me. I didn’t have a clue where I wanted to work or what I wanted to do. But now, reading back, I realise the things I wanted then are still mostly similar to what I want now, and the things that I cared about back then are still the things that make me come alive now.
There is something comforting and validating about that. To know that in some ways, I am still the same person I was then – I know it feels a lot longer than it really is but so much has changed since – and to know that I was right about myself, even back when I was an idealistic university student. Even when my mum was convinced I was making a mistake. I didn’t get everything right during those years, I still don’t, but at least I was right about this one.
Hey Soph,
Thanks for the “retrospective” piece. I read my old journals and i know what you mean. Sometimes it feels funny – as if I am reading someone else’s story until some of the memories jarred at me. And then I realised it was me – I lived it all.
And I am feeling… I don’t quite know how to put it. I guess you can say one part nostalgic, 2 parts fear for the future and a dash of hope as the end of the year rolls by.
Thanks for writing this. Sometimes, reading someone’s piece that says exactly what’s in your heart is almost as gratifying as penning down those feelings. Yes, almost but not quite. That’s what makes us writers, I guess.
xoxo,
M
You’re very welcome :) Here’s to a coming-fast new year!