Prologue.

*This post is to give you an idea what I did yesterday :)) I copied it from my notebook ;)*

It's a bit cold here, so I take out the scarf and wrap around myself. "That should do it", I think, feeling all contented.

Then I open my newly bought notebook. The big glass wall in front of me, sunlight all around me, the hot cup of chamomile tea and the piece of cranberry cake beside me... I start to write.

This is how I start this new diary of mine.

Very possibly, it would be filled with my inexplicable thoughts and feelings, those I cannot pinpoint or express clearly, things that I don't know how to tell others, for I'm afraid that they won't understand and will misunderstand. No, people won't understand. And everyone judges. Including myself.

But, also equally possibly, this diary just might as well be filled with rubbish :| Random thoughts, whatever that comes to my mind. Can be a stupid quote that I saw somewhere, can be my rant about how tasteless is the cake, can be some "personal opinion" about the girl sitting next to me ("I don't like her dress at all")... In one word, rubbish.

Ok. What now?

So, very likely this diary would be sth weekly, sth for me to scribble when I have time to sit here at the 4th level, facing the light, watching the birds, enjoying the sky. Nothing much, really.

Gosh, my diary has just started and it's already filled with rubbish, content-wise and look-wise. I didn't even write my name at the 1st page, which is sth I always do with new notebooks. I also didn't care about writing carefully and beautifully, which is, again, unusual considering that I'm writing in a newly bought notebook...

I'm being random AGAIN (blame "The elephant vanishes" please, it's infected me with its extreme randomness)

But wait, what am I doing? I didn't think of coming here to write actually. I thought of sitting here to enjoy the sun and a cake and a book. Even when I bought this notebook, I didn't think of using it as a diary either (hello, as if I cannot open just another blog and set it private?). I wanted to use it to write down parts that I like in the book.

You see, I didn't have a slightest idea of writing here my own thoughts.

Until I opened the notebook. And faced its smooth creamy white blank pages, as smooth as a piece of cheese cake. With the pen in my hand.

Thoughts just came, uninvitedly, like an obsession that has been hiding for too long, waiting for its first chance to come to light. And I wrote.

"It's a bit cold here"

Obviously, I have totally forgotten about whatever I wanted to do at first. That's how it started.

Ok, my tea is getting cold. Still not a single sight of my "complicated thoughts".

Haiz. Nvm... I won't pretend to be a fool anymore. I know very well that they are still here, they didn't go anywhere. It is me who didn't write them out. It is me who didn't let them have a chance to surface. Maybe I should do it, now. After all, it's supposed to be the ultimate purpose of this diary, isn't it?

And I turn to the next page.