it should be called a diary. 02/12/2025 02:23

the inner child isn't worth soothing this time. diary is the right word for it.

im still writing that essay due in 13 hours. im having a lot of fun writing it, actually. i'm opting to write it more creatively with less reference to critics/articles besides the input of Elizabeth Smart herself and any biographical context. it really is an amazing book both to read and write about. seriously and wholeheartedly recommend. it isn't a long read either.

moving out of my accomodation to go back home for the holidays in a few days. not really looking forward to it. it isn't forever but i will have to face family and more once i'm back.

time to continue writing my essay. ill leave a question here that i can answer once im back here out of boredom: does chasing a more authentic version of ourselves make us less authentic?

should it be called a journal or a diary? 01/12/2025

i remember reading diary of a wimpy kid when i was younger and thinking about how greg didn't want to call his diary a diary because it was girly. it's strange how we make these associations. i guess "journal" sounds a bit more refined and businesslike than "diary", which sounds a good deal more sentimental. so really it's just a matter of impersonal (which is characterised as masculine i guess) and personal. i'll use journal to satisfy the inner child who used to writhe under being called "girly".

this is here just because i like the idea of writing publicly without worrying about getting it out there. people will just fall upon it, or they won't - it'll be here regardless. it's not as demanding as substack, either. i couldn't get away with writing nonsense on substack.

journalling is extremely worth it. i think the best case for journalling is "By Grand Central Station I Sat Down and Wept" by Elizabeth Smart. it's a phenomenal book and it exists because so many of its passages were first expressed in Smart's own journal. "one of the most shelled, skinned, nerve-exposed books ever written" is what it says in the introduction to my copy, and i know it wouldn't have this feeling to it if it wasn't so intimately tied to Smart's own life. "is the body not the most wonderful instrument?"

but i guess the book only makes a case for the journalling writer. if you don't want to be a writer, it's not as powerful a case. even if you are, the chances of your journals birthing a successful novella, novel, poem, anything is pretty small with the state of publishing now. but it's worth it just to create. even if you create shit. nobody should think too much about whether what they write is "good" or not. it's a real vibe killer. if it's for your eyes, your good, it doesn't matter. nobody's looking.

foucault writes something about self-surveillance. acting like we're being watched when we're really not. the eyes we read our writing with don't grow like that independently. it's being raised on the idea that merit matters in writing that does this to us. acting like someone is reading our writing with us even if it really is just us - just you.

i promised my friends i'd meet them before 18:00 and it's 18:19 now. i have an essay to write (on "By Grand Central Station" too. that's why i talk about it here. it's next to me right now, actually) for tomorrow that i've really only planned, but i plan on staying up. i don't sleep really well regardless so better to spend that time doing something.

another thought before i'm off. the thought of being watched isn't always terrible. Offred in the Handmaid's Tale addresses her entire story to an invisible "You" and there's a really good passage in the book that talks about it, but it's been about six months since i had to really think about it. i'm not Offred and neither is anyone else keeping a public journal, but the idea of an invisible "You" reading this is comforting nonetheless, isn't it?

regardless of whether "You" are there or not, thank "You".