Before my days of blogging, I wrote using a pen in a little notebook known by many as a diary. I’ve kept one since I could write and while some of my earliest diaries along with some of my deepest secrets have strangely disappeared, I’ve managed to preserve my diaries from third class to sixth class. This is a cringey time for any child but for boy-obsessed, self-conscious, pony-tailed Gemma, it was especially embarrassing which I’m sure you’d know if you’d read my Valentine’s post. These diary entries were never meant to entertain. They were simply a way for me to express my strong overwhelming emotions. Regardless they may (unintentionally) be my funniest pieces of work. It’s for this reason that I’ve decided to share a few extracts with you with the hope that time travel is not possible and my past self will not hate me for laughing at her.
To get an idea of my past self, here’s a character profile that I drafted for this exact purpose:
I’ve also included a character profile of my twin who “think shes so cool”, which has proven that not a lot has changed.
It’s safe to say that I was pretty insecure in 4th and 5th class. I was an angsty teen before I had even knew the meaning of “angst”.
Although I would go through rare periods of self confidence:
I have to admit that I spent more time than I care to admit, reading through these diaries to find the entries worth noting. There were a lot not worth noting such as Exhibit A, B and C right here.
Reading back on my old diaries isn’t just a recent hobby of mine, I’ve been cringing at my old diaries since I’ve started writing them. Yet I didn’t always have a blog to post about it on so I’d just write little notes, usually ominous about what was to come or critical of what I had previously written.
Perhaps my favourite diary entry of all time is Christmas Eve of ’08. In which the event of Sinéad knocking down my earring holder spirals wildly out of control. And my revenge takes the form of an unflattering doodle of her.
I guess my twin and I didn’t have the best relationship. That’s probably what led to this highly creative story I made up:
However my diary wasn’t just for bitching about my twin, it was a place for serious topics. Like my inevitable death. I was a practical child. I knew it had to happen some time. I wasn’t depressed about the fact, merely worried that my funeral wouldn’t be well planned. In attempt to guide the organisation of the event, I requested a large quantity of lilies and my best friend to read my “funeral speech” which is basically an Oscar speech where I thank everyone I had ever encountered. It continues for about 4 pages but I won’t bore you more than I already have.
I’ll leave you with the ending of one of my many diaries…
(I really want to see boys cry)