Nothing Happen Today. Good Night.

            I was going through a bunch on my old stuff some time back. I've got these cardboard boxes full of "junk" as my mom and dad likes to call it. But I like to call it my "Treasure Chest Of Memorabilia" (ok, no, I don't. I just call it my stuff. This sounded fancier. And I wasn't even sure what memorabilia meant.. or how its spelt .Google to the rescue as always.)

Anyway so this treasure chest which might just look like an ordinary suitcase from the outside, is filled with years of valuable and one-in-a-million memories. Bits of scrap paper passed around in class, movie tickets, wrapping paper with tag on, letters and cards, flowers that has been dried between pages of books, locks of hair (no, im not a psycho), stones from a memorable place and other things that mite cause you to rethink my sanity level. Among all these, I found a couple of diaries. Now who hasn't written a diary once atleast once in a lifetime. They're so wonderful and personal, especially when you start writing so young. To me as a kid, it a whole new playground. I didn't have to use my best handwriting. I didn't have to stay between the lines. I could use pens with ink that are not blue or black. I could doodle right in the middle of the book if I wanted. And I could stop writing whenever I wanted. My first diary was introduced to me by an aunt, who wanted to encourage us kids to write. It was this lil black leather book with a flap so that you can button it shut. I wrote unfailingly for weeks. Some of my entries, as I read it now.. are hilarious : 

September 7^th Wednesday 1994

Today in the I had a very BIG headace. At home alsaso my dad brought the termomiter. I was having 100.

Um.. ok so not hilarious,maybe. Just plain dumb. For a 9 year old anyway. I'm guessing the headache affected my sentence formation.. And my spellings.. thank god you can't see my handwriting. :-/

January 23 Sunday 1994

Today in school I did not have 4 peread. I am so happy today because I don't have tuion.

July 12 Tuesday 1994

Today I went to ice scat. I could not scat. But I enjoyed it. I am sleepy. Good night. Bye.

I said good night, bye, sometimes Good evening and occasionally, love ya, to my diary. I know…  :-/

After a while the posts got shorter and shorter : 

June 18 Saturday 1994

Dear Diary, Nothing happen today. Good night.

June 19 Sunday 1994

Dear Diary, Nothing happen today also. Good night.

About a month of this and then I got even lazier and started to resort to using ,, ,, in every day's column. As in "same-as-above". Apparently nothing happen to me for the rest of the year.

But then again when a new year dawns, I'd again start off on the crisp pages (which smells yummy by the way) of a fresh new diary. 

Once in my teens, I realized diaries are kinda kiddish and that I should move on to the grown-up version of diaries - the journal.

 I'm not sure what the difference is, but I was a major Babysitter's Club fan then, and the kids in that book always wrote in journals, which simultaneously (crap, I cannot spell simultaneously.. without spell check that is.) was considered to be a cool thing to do.

See the journal on the floor? See it? So cool!

 I figure the only difference is that diaries are meant to be written at night before bed and journals you can whip em up whenever you want and bitch bout life in it. Which was pretty much all I did in my journal. Complain bout my parents. Complain bout how I look. Complain about my best friends. Complain bout how much I had to study and how utterly useless algebra is. With an occasional random post about a new crush or two. :-)

May 16^th 1999 (excerpts)

….. except for one who is drop-dead gorgeous. Well, he's not that cute but then he is really cute. But I think he's some sort of fuddy-duddy (I'm not making this up. I did use the words "fuddy-duddy". I mean how cool was I!)

……….When a girl next to me said the words "fall in love" to someone she was talking to, I looked up at the same time he was looking at me. I know its silly and doesn't mean anything my heart was pounding so bad that time. I think I'm a silly jerk. He doesn't have a nice accent and he hardly ever laughs. Geek. But he looks nice when he smiles……

…..I really really wanna talk to him but I don't have the guts. What am I gonna say anyway? I heard he's a boring conversationalist…….

Ahhhh to be 13 again! 

Note : To know how that story ended.. clickety click here!

I stuck to that journal throughout my teenage years. It wasn't much to look at. It was a notebook with a picture of a bunch of animals on the cover. And it says P.M.S deluxe. Lol! I just noticed that now. I bought it from the store in front of my house for 7 bucks. Eventually I punched a hole through all the pages so that I could slip a lock through it. For ensured privacy. Expect I lost the key one day and had to rip it open anyway. The last post I've written in it is where I'm stressing bout passing 12^th grade and college and life in India.

Do I seem 18 now? ( I asked the 192 paged book) I think the way I write is different (not my handwriting). Or maybe I'm just trying too hard…

What's that even supposed to mean?

Once in college, I didn't do much journal or diary writing because college hostels are one place where girls just get a kick outta reading other people's diaries. In fact, when I was a kid, I used to jump at every chance to read my sister's diary. Except it didn't have anything earth-shattering in it. On the first page of her diary, she'd write – Do Not Open and do this drawing of the danger sign which actually just looked like a peanut on top of an X. On page two, she'd personally address me and say something like "You know its bad manners to read other people's diaries so PUT IT DOWN", which is sooo the wrongest thing to say to a jobless kid with a level of curiosity that could've killed a whole street of cats. But seriously, her diaries were boring. So in college, when eventually I did start writing, it was more or less for an audience. I'd write it so that others would like it if they read it. It would be humorous and charming with tit-bits of interesting trivia once in a while.

So today I hit a mosquito with my bare hands and then I swear I heard a crackling sound. I felt bad about it for a bit, but alas! (yes, alas) the deed had been done. I had crushed the poor thing's endoskeleton..Which as I know is just like human skeletons but on the outside. Yaawn, Off to bed, then. Tomorrow is gonna be another jam-packed day! (uh, yeah right!)

Sometimes I'd force my roommate to write about me in their diary then read it out loud to me. I think she tore out those pages about me after I went to sleep. :-/

Once I discovered blogging, I haven't really felt the need to write a diary. Most of my innermost thoughts and feelings, I usually blog about it. Or its my Facebook status. Ten years ago, I'd have tore someone's eyes out if they so much as hovered near my diary and read about my days where Nothing Happen today again. Now I'm just putting it all up on the web.. for public display.. of billions and thousands of people (ok, so not that many, I don't get that many hits on my blog :-( )

I started a diary last year though. But I stick to one-liners now. 

Day 1 - I got my driver's license today! Yay!

Day 2 - I almost run over someone today. Bummer!

Day 3 - I got my first pay-check. Yay!

Day 4 - I got fired today. Bummer!

After a while, I think I'll probably just shorten it to emoticons.  

Day 1

:-)

Day 2

:-(

Day 3

:-/

Day 4

?;0-(0''!~

Don't ask.

I wanna Blabber...

U know wats the greatest thing bout having a blog?U can talk bout those things that u reeeeeally wanna talk bout n noones got the patience to listen to.Like those things like if ur at a party and u wait n wait n wait for ur turn to say sumthin cos everyone is all speakin at the same time and ur like "Ooh ooh something exaaactly like that happen to me when i was in Italy and..." and sumone goes "Oh god,that new Italian actress is like the ultimate bomb,is'nt she?" and then everyone would rather talk bout the stupid Italian actress..blah.. and no i havent really been to Italy.It was a metaphor!

Or those things u start to say when ur sitting around with ur friends and they go like "NOOOOOOO not again no, we've heard this 50 bagazillion times!!" which is like a tooootal exaggeration, by the way.Sure, i mite have repeated some stories one or two times...or maybe a 20 times...still!

So if i put it down on a blog, then people can just read em, whenever they have the time n patience to read it...or they feel like reading it again...and again!!ok maybe only i read it again n again..but u get my point.Like what if one fine day, I am all famous and rich. N ppl'll be buying strands of my hair on Ebay. Thats when u guys'll really wanna read my blog...This'll be a celebrity blog!Ohh and i would'nt even have to write anything then...I'd either just get my personal secretary to do it for me or I'll just fill it up with pictures of urs truely!! Man, it must b nice being rich n famous...

I've alwayz wanted to be a rich n famous writer. Well the rich n famous bit is a recent addition. But yeah, if I'm gonna b a writer, mite as well be successful,yeah?

I started writing stuff, as is stories and stuff, at a pretty early age.Remember in my previous post i mention how I stapled my hand when I was 5? That was cos I had finished writing my first "book" in a whole buncha papers n wanted to staple it all together so that it looks like a book..Now, I don't remember what I had written in those papers.But i do remember the book part..And the holding the stapler the wrong way part.And the blood n gore afterwards part............

Anywayz....my earliest writing skills were tested on my letters to Dad.He used to work abroad and visited only once in a while.So we tried to keep in touch as much as we could through snail mail.I used to write pretty frequently.And i used to write bout everythin!Not so much bout school,maybe cos I skipped school quite a lot those days, cos Dad was'nt around to keep an eye on me and Mom really could'nt control me.Hmm..its a wonder I actually passed 2nd grade.

Anywayz,I used to write to him bout the dogs, the chickens, the cows, my sisters who left me outta everythin cos I was'nt "old enuff" to play with the big girls, my mom who tortured me with Gigantic glasses of "yucky" milk everyday (she still dus), and my cousin who has 10 zillion Barbies who I'm very very jealous of (I still am..I mean, she had an insane amount of Barbies!Who would'nt b jealous!). My letters used to be long and quite informative.

Well, the letters came to an end when we all moved abroad. But u know wat?Dad and I still wrote letters...later in my teenage years.When we were pretty much at war all the time.We communicated pretty much through slamming doors and notes and letters..And I still have each and every one of those letters.

After the letter stage, I continued writing stories in bits and pieces here and there.That when dad bought me my first journal. To write whateva i wanted.I still remember it. It had a large picture of Minnie Mouse wearing a pink skirt on it! It was like my prized possession. I started off by re-writing classics. My first story was bout the lion and the ant. Then I wrote my version of Cinderella. I remember my sisters laughing uproariously everything they read the word "price" cos appartently thats how I thought "prince" was spelt.

Anywayz, my dad told me I shud write more of my own stuff..as in think and create it outta ur own head..So I thought and wrote a story bout how a girl has a dream and goes to a place where there is unlimited junk food and ice cream and..yeah well junk food..well, I was a young child introduced to the world of junk food just ladat one fine day..all my dreams revolved around junk food at that point of time.

That story was'nt half bad for a start. I wrote more stories. I remember I was in the middle of a story where one of the character's names was Reynold, when one of my uncles borrowed my book to read it. He never returned it. Apparently he lost it. I'm not one for holding grudges..but yeah.. I have never forgiven him..

Later, I discovered the computer...at the age of 9, if i remember right. Back then computers for me was all bout Paint, PacMan and Prince of Persia. Ohh n NotePad...Was addicted to NotePad. Started writing up on the comp and copying them onto my very own Floppy Disk!yes yes, i was high up there then..using Floppies and all.

I remember writing this poem bout Mom n Dad but it was reeeeeally cheesy n I just wrote it in a bid for more allowance or something.

My first horror story was bout a boy eats radioactive blueberries and ends up a cannibal..It got too scary that I couldnt finish it.

I continued writing a lotta stories like dat thru out my school years.Most of em I left infinished.I started one bout a guy who goes back in time..and I was hoping to make it a movie someday.Except I never finished it.Problem is, when i start a story I never know how its going to end up. I just go with the flow. And get stuck. Thats when another idea pops up. And I forget bout this story and pursue the new one.

It was in 6th grade I think I decided to get serious bout writing... All cos of an English teacher. She made us write an essay bout our Favourite movie. And my favourite movie at that point was Dunston Checks In. I'm not sure wat I wrote.It was just half a page. And i just got a 7 on 10 for it. But I will never Ever forget the remark she'd written on it - Keep it up. Your style of writing is truely unique...

Thats the first time someone had said something like that bout my writing. I mean sure, my dad keeps praising it.But then he's my dad.He's supposed to say nice stuff! This was like my first praise from an outsider! Thats when I made the concious decision to take up writing seriously.

After that, I let my friends read a few of my stories. But I was still quite cautious. I never send anything out for competetions or anythin. Until 11th grade, where I sorta involuntarily had to enter a competiton. We could write on anything. N it was around the time the 9/11 took place. So i wrote this 7 page long story based on it and it was all sappy and tragic and tears. I read the whole thing again, tore it up and wrote a 2 page autobiography of a strand of hair. It did'nt win a prize but it sure made the judges laugh..and for me, that was prize enough. :-)

After i got into college, I suddenly didnt have time to write anymore..Or rather,I didn't feel like it anymore. Its like, I can't write when someone is forcing me to write. And in my course, ur supposed to write whether u feel like it or not. Come up with scripts and screenplays and copy and features and stuff just like that. I could'nt do it. The words had to come to me. I could'nt make em come. So throughout college, my writing abilities were restricted to long text messages and an occasional rap song we friends cooked up. I do write poetry sometimes. But they're all based on experience and somehow seems incredibly cheesy wen i read em later, like an over-done sentimental forward msg.

And then this blog happen. So this is my playground again. To write wat I want, how I want, when I want to.

So as I was sayin initially, if i were to say all this in a verbal conversation there is nooo way, I would've gotten so far without being inturrupted.And,yeah,well,I like not bein inturrupted.And also,this way I don't have to pretend I have'nt noticed the painfully bored expressions on ur face, or ur subtle tactics to leave the room.

So that, ladies and gentleman, that, I declare, is the beauty of blogging....

Blabber on, mates!