The Lost Diary

How do you stop to love and start to live?
How do you start to forget?
How do you unlearn to ride a bike?

When I was younger, I was invited by my Language subject teacher to be part of the school paper, who also happens to be the moderator and over-all in-charge of the newspaper publication. I attended the screening session and found a number of interested people like me. We were then asked to write something about ourselves and cover any topic we'd like. This would help her, my subject teacher, gauge our writing skills and decide on what post best suits us. When the results came out, I was assigned to be the Literary Editor. I was surprised. Shocked even on some level. What would someone like me do in such a posts that I have never even been at least an apprentice of? What talent or skill do I need to make sure I work effectively in that post? What just happened? What was I going to do? I had no idea at all.

Writing is like a river
You know it springs from somewhere,
     But spell not exactly where
You know it leads to the ocean,
     But never can contain it

I didn't know how to start a poem or what the perfect words were to make a literary piece right. I didn't know where to get the ideas. I didn't know how to tell a story. But if there's one thing, I know I can feel and there is that something inside of me that needs to flow. 

So i take a pen and a piece of paper, and started to write everything that I feel. There was just me, a pen, and a piece of paper. It was a world inside of me. And the words found its way to the pen, and the pen shook hands with the paper. And the paper, he talked to me as how an old friend would. He told me things I thought I knew and he told me things I never knew. He was honest, and he made me cry. He was my console, and he just sat on the table. 

The words may never rhyme, but all in time
     Will be just fine
When you find the words to say, say we may, 
     Say it nay

I never knew there was a part of me that was untold, that was repressed. My moderator, she saw it. She read between the lines and for short moments during our reviews there was a bridge between me and her in a different world; she can see me as I am. So it was.

Goodbye,
Why do you hurt so much...

It was the last year of our stay in Elementary. A last work. No, not work, but rather a last piece as Literary Editor. I remember the title, it was 'Goodbye'. I gave it may all; the words I couldn't say, the fears I have, and the pain I feel. It was goodbye to the younger years, goodbye to happiness, and goodbye to love. I was young and foolish. I needed to be loved and not to feel alone. I needed to belong as we all do.

The song played...

Time passed by and changes walked with me. I have learned new things and have met new people. I have been down and been up. I have been bent, and have been firmed. I have been good and been bad. I have been lost and then found. I am far different from the ugly duckling I was back then. I have grown to be someone my past would have been very proud of. All those years, I have kept my diary of Literary pieces. For every moment in my life, I have shared with them, my silent friends; a pen and piece of paper. 

It broke my heart to one day find my friends consumed by nature and time. All the years lost. Why? Why? Please No. I have forgotten them in the past years, and just when I am bridging the past to the future, I find myself lost again. I wanted to share them to the world, every last word in it. Regrets. A part of me died and is mourning.

As you live everyday, there comes a time when you live a lifetime in a single moment... 

But this is not how my friends would want me to be. If they could talk to me they'd tell me to 'Move on, make a new story. Remember us in many ways.' The past no matter how beautiful or unpleasant they may have been, will always be a part of us. But we cannot live in the past. We learn and we move on, and we carry with us memories. Each moment is precious because it will never happen twice, as the present is as well. The words may be lost, but the feelings will never be...

How do you unlearn to ride a bike?
How do you start to forget?
How do you stop to love and start to live?

You don't. We don't. Live to love, then you love and live.