I hold every of your secrets; every event that should be hidden, every laughter that cannot be shared, every tear sunken into the pillows, I hold them all.
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I will flip my pages now to remind you of who you were before the separation, before everything and everyone fell apart.
January, 2001.
Dear Diary,
I do not like my scanty blonde hair, everyone in school calls me pigtails, it is so embarrassing. I asked my mother not to hold my hair into pigtails today, I am 12 for God's sake! But she says I remind her of her younger self. Only, I don't have blue eyes, my eyes are hazel instead. She says that is the only thing I got from my father. I hope she doesn't style my hair like this tomorrow, I'm getting tired of being the laughingstock.
X.O.X.O,
Diane.
I cannot help but smile as you lift your own lips in slight embarrassment, you were just a little girl, I will show you yet another memory.
December, 2001.
Dear Diary,
I am 13 now. Mom says I'm becoming an adult so she finally lets me style my hair however I like. I put some heat in it and left it to fall to the small of my back, that's how Anita Anderson wears hers too.
*Everyone in school now stares at me differently, I have my skirt heaved up to my stomach once I leave the house so my pretty, straight legs can be seen. I also have a lip stain I stole from mom, I apply a little of it every morning and gloss it up. *
This girl is here to slay. Stay tuned.
X O.X.O,
Diane.
At this point, you cannot take your eyes off me. You are flipping my pages frantically, running your eyes along the words and laughing hysterically. You even take your phone out to capture some of my pages. I am glad you still find me useful after all these years.
You soon get to a page where you cover your mouth with your palm. I think you have finally arrived at the beginning.
May, 2005.
Dear Diary,
I have been crowned hottest girl in MacRover High.
The captain of the soccer team, Ernest, is head over heels for me, everyone in school can tell. I am not intrigued by him so I do not regard his flowers or chocolates as important.
The boy who holds my attention is Willy Cormac. He is the most handsome boy in all of MacRover High but he has a girlfriend. I don't care anyway, after all, I am Diane, there is no boy I cannot get to love me.
Watch out.
X.O.X.O,
Diane.
I cannot read the expression on your face after you read this event. This is what led to your mother throwing you out of her house, I still remember how drenched your pillows stayed during this period. Every single night, you would lock yourself up, hold your stomach, and allow the tears you gathered up during the day to flow freely down your eyes.
January, 2006.
Dear Diary,
Stares, I am used to them now.
I rub my itching stomach and lower myself gently onto the hospital bench. I have been having funny pains in my back for some days now, my aunty Sheila who I have been staying with since my mother kicked me out said I should make a complaint to my doctor before something awful happens to the baby.
I do not know if I want to have this baby, he has caused me more harm than good.
I saw Willy Cormac’s girlfriend at the mall a few days ago and she spat at my feet. I had never gotten an opportunity to say how sorry I was for luring her boyfriend that night. It was a good thing his family shipped him over to South Korea immediately after they found out I was with his child.
I have been called into the doctor's office. I will write to you later.
X.O.X.O,
Diane.
I remember that your baby had to be taken out from you almost immediately because you had some complications so you couldn't write to me as promised, but when your baby was born, you shared that joy with me. You called him on that page, a bundle of joy and relief. I am glad you finally have a reason to smile again after all this time.
However, your joy is short-lived because she refuses to come. You think it will be a few months like your aunt says but it goes into a year, 2 years, then 5.
She never sends gifts for his birthdays, never reaches out, never acknowledges that she is his grandmother.
Then your pillows start getting drenched again.
It is not until 11 years later that she sends her first letter, but it is not to ask you to return to the house as you have always dreamt of. It holds a message that completely shatters your heart. Your mother is dying.
I do not like that you fill my pages with blame during this period. You pay less and less attention to your son because you keep blaming yourself for everything that is happening. You do not even find the courage to go and see her until she sends another letter and says she is getting surgery in a week.
She doesn't survive that surgery, I know because you're back at the house packing up her things and planning to sell the building.
I am glad that I can be here for you now that you need this memory, and I am even happier that you made peace with your mother before she passed on. Your son too has begun to collect his thoughts in a diary, I cannot wait to see what life holds in store for him.