I won’t tell you about all of the things that I’ve forgotten. I won’t lament to you about how their memories have faded away from my mind. But, I will make the point to express my gratitude for what I remember and how it’s changed me. In this day and age’s ever modernizing world, it’s hard to believe that such acts as “penmanship” even exist. In this day and age’s ever-modernizing world, it’s hard to believe that “creativity” and “self-expression” exist. I believe in the unification of both and I believe in self-expression. I believe in the act, use, creation and maintenance of a personal journal.

Everyone has thoughts and lives through experiences and has interests and things that they despise. Everyone has a heart, soul and mind. Everyone can pick up a pen and with a little practice make the words flow. I could never keep a journal in my younger days. The odd repetition of daily accounts became dreadfully boring as time went on and I found myself hanging up the pen and notebook scarcely before I’d gotten so much as a week recorded. I remember the longest time I had been able to keep my journal going, successively, was in 3rd grade and it was for a month. Needless to say, this was a very big deal for the eight-year-old me. I never thought a journal would be important, though my mother strongly encouraged me to keep one. Years later, while cleaning out my room on a cool Sunday evening, I would rediscover my journal from third grade and read my old accounts, laughing at spelling errors and faded thoughts I used to have. A window to the past, that’s how I described it, though not even then could I gain inspiration to start anew.

People often complain about their junior year in high school, and here’s a disclaimer for you: it was no easy picnic. But, I must say that I enjoyed it. Why? The answer is simple. Sometime during that hellish year, I gained the ability of self-expression. The December of my junior year, I picked up an old notebook lying on the floor in my room and wrote for thirteen pages about my life. All of my thoughts on life, friends, classes—all of my fears, dreams, hopes, all of it was recorded and coming to the end I found my mood lighter and myself feeling accomplished. Since then, I have written 1,510 pages to date, and I have learned so much about myself. I have continuously slaved away over a hot pen and paper, plowing through the nights filled with haranguing spectators that didn’t believe, crushing fatigue and writer’s block that stung like a vengeful wasp.

I have watched myself grow, learn and change. I have watched both the good times and the bad times. I have seen my own uncensored thoughts written down on paper and gained a truer understanding of what I think. I have watched myself grow and mature as a writer and I have gained pride in my own ability to express myself. I have carefully carved out precious memories that even when my mind has grown old, a record bound in faded paper will still stand. I believe in keeping a journal. A journal is a window to yourself and allows you to understand who you truly are, what you believe in and just how much you can change. Express yourself, relinquish your thoughts and never stop writing. Life is beautiful; record every minute of it.