At the wonderfully creative world that is my school’s ‘English Club’, I was given a writing assignment by my teacher. which consisted of the writing instructions ‘ Right guys, I’m tired, write what you want!’. The enormous freedom I felt encouraged me to fill the diary-shaped void in my life with a little something like this:
I’m hit with a fresh burst of nostalgia as I place pen to paper (fingers to keyboard?) on what has to be the beginning of the first extract in a diary since I was 6. Has… has it really been that long? I recall writing within your ’SpiderMan’-themed covers (identical to that of my twin brother’s of course) questioning what the purpose of this mundane, aimless task was. After a few weeks, my determination to acquire a new, creative hobby dwindled. Your fate? The dusty enclave which lay beneath my bed. I lacked creativity, as well as patience.
Yet, as time passed and my perspectives on life changed, I find that I have been the subject of a ‘role reversal’. Now? I sometimes feel as if I’m too creative for my own good! Creativity can often be a double-sided coin; it can be the start of something incredible, or it can be the end of a life which was once comfortable. Although I wouldn’t change this character trait for *insert cliché here* anything in the world. A lack of creativity provides such a narrow outlook on life. I wouldn’t say creativity was absent in my life as a child – after all, pretending to be a kung-fu master with my best friend in my back garden couldn’t have been achieved without a broad, open mind (and sugar. Lots and lots of sugar). More so, I think I’ve managed to fine-tune this creativity into something I’m proud to show the world – a talent.
Diary, I know that I neglected you across the many years of my life; just remember that it was nothing personal. As much as I wanted to write my passions and aspirations onto the pages of your matter, there was nothing to write. However, as I began to expand upon the limits of my own mind, I’ve found that I want to write, pen to paper, for the rest of my dwindling days as a Journalist. I hope that you can be proud of me – the child I once was may not have had any stories to tell you, or the regrets that I’ve had; but you’ve always been at the forefront of my mind. To inspire me in sharing my thoughts, my feelings and my outlook on life with not just you, but with the rest of the world.
For that, I will always remain grateful