GirliE4789

At first, it was because I wanted a place to let everyone back home know how I was doing. I didn’t want to waste time digging through my inbox crammed with spam, chain letters, and recycled inspirational messages for a real, direct message to me. And I lost the key to my diary. I’ve been keeping one since I was ten; it isn’t a habit I can break. I needed a place to rant about my insensitive then-boyfriend. I needed a place to pour out how homesick I was, entering college in a big city, leaving everyone I cared about on the other end of the country, 7,000 islands away. I needed a place to document who I saw, what I did, what I thought, how I felt.

I used to think that I write my entries for me, to see how my thoughts look on paper, to purge myself, to empty my head so I could sleep. But I think I’ve known all along that I write for other people, people I haven’t met yet, who will read what I have to say and who will tell me if I’m right or wrong or getting there. On Xanga, I get my messages, and I meet those people. With a regular diary, those people were shadows in a dimly lit room. On Xanga, they have faces and messages of their own, and I get them, without having to look for them. They are there, they are real, and they’re writing for us, me, each other as well.

jaguar_kally7