I’ve always kept a diary of sorts. Back when I was in high school, I began one when I had to undergo dental procedures and was here in Manila with my mother, staying in my uncle’s house in Dapitan. I can’t recall now where I got the notebook I wrote on. It had the picture of, brace yourself, Nora Aunor– in a pink long-sleeved bouse. She also had a pink ribbon on her hair.
Mama wasn’t extravagant in many ways, so that notebook even had newsprint paper or something between that and white notebook paper. I wrote sporadically and among the entries I recall having written was one mirroring my fear when while at my uncle’s house, I heard voices shouting, “Ang sigaw ng bayan” then a chorus shouting, “Himagsikan”. I was so scared, especially when I saw red bands around the marchers’ heads. that was in 1971.
When I was in college, I think I still wrote in that notebook, of a classmate and how we were teased. Oh, and I also remember having written in it sob stories from high school. Stories I had forgotten by the time I reread them. They made me smile, somehow.
Later on, in college, someone gave me a diary on which I wrote every day Around that time too, I took to reading the BIble every day. then mama died, and I ceased reading the Bible and writing in that diary.
That’s not to say I lost my faith in God, I guess I just didn’t want to write because then what I’d have written about would have been sad stories/reflections. And I didn’t want to prolong the agony of thinking such thoughts by writing them down.
I find it easier to write when I’m happy or angry; sad, rarely. Perhaps I don’t want to deal with that kind of reality, or dwell on it? Perhaps I don’t relish the idea of anyone’s possibly reading my thoughts when I’m at my lowest?
Papa used to warn us to be careful about what we wrote, lest whatever we did fall into the wrong hands.
Regardless,don’t let me influence your thoughts on when to write. Instead, follow the dictum found in the article here.