I am a very emotional person. The very way that I write is based on that. In good spirits, or bad, my attitude and emotions seem to dictate what the subject is. I do sometimes wonder in which mood does my writing come out the best. One thing that I do know for sure is that the more emotions I feel, the easier I get in to that “zone”. Anyone who has been in that zone will know that words just pour out of you, sometimes at a very fast rate. There are times that I can type minutes at a time with out stopping.
I was going to write about something else today, but as I got into it I didn’t feel right. I knew there was something else trying to come out of me. So I saved that subject for later and is stuck on something that I have been thinking about. A few months ago I went rummaging through some stuff in the basement when I came across my old Mead Composition Notebook. This was my journal that I kept in high school. It was an assignment that I had throughout senior year English. I was completely stunned that I found this book. I briefly skimmed through it and just remember all the things that I wrote about. I left it down there to continue what I was doing.
Today I went down there to get my clothes from the dryer when I noticed it on the bin. I thought to myself, “you know, this was like my blog back in the day”. So, I decided to take it upstairs with me for a better look. The book itself is slightly bend from all the wear and tear. Inside is my woefully horrible handwriting. I am glad that I can understand it. Then I noticed something, that made me realize why I stopped writing in High School.
I went to St. Raymond’s High School for Boys, which is in the Bronx. Being a teenage boy in a school full of teenage boys is not an easy thing to deal with. Not when you are dealing with issues of self esteem or when your parents are getting a divorce. Some kids did not like me and I quite frankly did not like them. So, during one of the times that I was feuding with one of these boys, they decided to steal this very journal and insert gum into the pages. I am not even really sure if they read the thing or not, but seeing my journal destroyed left me very angry.
Since then it took me awhile to realize that writing is something that I love. I am assuming there was a subconscious reason why I kept this book because when I see it and read it, I realize that I was born to write. It is the one thing I can do that no one can take away. One of the reasons why I archived my blogs was because I need to keep a personal account of how I have grown in with my writings. This notebook takes me to the beginning.