“Dear Diary”

Dear Diary,

I write here when I am feeling rather glum or particularly vulnerable… There are so many people out there that I feel reach out to me. There is actually one person I am thinking of. He writes so much that I cannot keep up. Then I notice that I cannot tend to him. Or that I feel I am exhausted.

It is like the love of a mother to a child. What happens if throughout life you meet so many children that want you to be their mother?

I know it is the turning point. That I am someone who has not noticed until now. Now I notice but I feel so tired. I feel so exhausted. It is as if a child has come up to me and has drawn a beautiful picture but I do not have the energy to reward them with my praise.

I feel as if I am drifting off into a sleep. A world apart from them. A world where I just watch and see all that they do, but that I cannot comment. It is so hard and difficult to comment. To congratulate. It is like lifting my limbs which are all heavy because I am drugged up.

It could be that I am tired. But I listen more and more now. I hear so many children in the world wanting my praise. I so want to praise them and tell them how good their achievements are.

It is not enough that they know this in my heart. They have to hear it from me. I need to respond but I feel so heavy and laden.

Perhaps, tomorrow is a brighter day. I am perhaps tired from the week’s work. I did respond. I responded to one child. I thought that was enough. That that was all I needed to do. However, now I see the so many other children out there that want me to respond to them.

I wish to respond to all but I haven’t the energy. The answer is to compose many short sweet touching responses. These responses are just as good as long time-consumed ones. The children are just happy with a smile from their mother – they need not anything more.


… Maybe I am going to write stuff up now… I was going to wait 5 more days and upload on Friday… but I suppose I will do so now…

… The problem with holding off is that it builds up a backlog and then I find that I try to restrict myself because I don’t want to type up so many scribblings in one go…

I’m sorry…

… I can’t read through your stuff… The reason is that it won’t do you justice… I want to be honest with you… It’s not you… It is me… I am selfish and I only skim your stuff for references that you may have written that I could use as a way to get you to talk about uncomfortable things.

It’s my job… I make you feel small and embarrassed. Then I change the subject onto my relationship between you and me.