In today’s world that scurries along at a breath-taking pace, it becomes impossible to possess a diary. People do move along with smart devices, but the relentless and frantic energy of everyday life doesn’t allow people to “just be”, just think and probably write.
Until mankind achieves the concept of the Time Machine, we have the comforts of a diary. It can transport you back to happy times, make you relive nostalgic moments, and make you laugh with a sense of pathos. In a handwritten diary, one could go a step further and find the handwriting change with moods, feel an ink smudge that happened a long time ago, or smell the fragrance of spilled coffee. There are some thinkers who believe that past is past, and it shouldn’t be looked back on. But isn’t all knowledge based on the past? Isn’t our character and behaviour forged from the past? What are we but an evolving product from our memory. The past becomes as important as the future, if not more. And none of us are looking into it enough.
However, there is one hidden diary with most of us, at least with the ones who are exposed to modern technology. There is a saying that if one wants to find out the secrets of a person, he or she should look into his trash. I would say that if one wants to know about a man, look into his sent mails. The hidden diary with us is in our mailbox, and the sent mails are a mirror to our lives. In all of our communication, we so often blame others, find faults, criticize and defame. But seldom do we look into our sent mails, which can be revealing in a disturbing way.
The tough times that you went through may not seem tough at all. In fact in retrospect, it may feel good to read about those turbulent times that made you better as an individual. The persistent mails, for which you might not have received replies, would teach you that there’s never a time to give up. Negligence is insult in a better veil, but that doesn’t serve as a stopper to perseverance. What we learn academically is so trivial and meaningless when compared to the knowledge we gain from making mistakes and suffering from them.
The angry retorts and the naïve thinking that reflects across in those mails would embarrass you, and make you feel that had you been little more patient and a little wiser, things wouldn’t have been messed up. Just like the Time machine, the hidden diary wouldn’t allow you to change things in the past, but if you look deep enough, you might be able to change things for the future.
But the ironic part is when you read those happy mails, those mails which have a sense of optimism to it, and those mails which have a romantic idealism in it, and you realize that things didn’t turn out that way. Those lines that were dramatic, those promises that were unrealistic and those ambitions that became unrealized hurt you. The happy times are haunting, not the tough ones.
There is truth in the fact that every person has a story in them, and only few of us start writing them. But there is also truth to the fact that most people do possess a diary with them, but only a few unearth it, due to accidental clicks of the mouse.