Column My diaries - a wild journey back in time to my youth
In her youth, the blue News columnist kept a diary. She recently took a trip back in time with her written memories and realized that some topics have remained the same to this day.
No time? blue News summarizes for you
- A few weeks ago, blue News columnist Michelle de Oliveira was looking for winter clothes in her mother's attic and found one of her favorite treasures: her diaries.
- As de Oliveira leafed through her written memories, she delved deeper into the past with every page.
- At some point, she put the books back in the box and resolved to make the diaries her compulsory reading when her two children stumble through puberty one day.
I spent last Christmas in Switzerland. Not only did I enjoy family, friends, cheese and snow flurries, but I also used the time to rummage through the attic in my mother's house.
In addition to winter clothes (thankfully), I also found long-forgotten toys from my childhood (hello, "Crazy Labyrinth") and one of my favorite treasures:
A banana box full of emotions, experiences and memories put into words. My diaries. There are eleven of them, I started the first one when I was eight years old and wrote the last entries sometime in my early 20s.
With each page, I delved deeper into the past
The first diary is adorned with a laughing clown, at some point I covered the notebooks with stickers or posters from "Bravo", some have a lock on them, others have a velvet ribbon wrapped around them.
About the person: Michelle de Oliveira
Michelle de Oliveira is a journalist, yogini, mother and always in search of balance - not just on the yoga mat. She also has a soft spot for all things spiritual. In her column, she reports on her experiences with the incomprehensible, but also from her very real life with all its joys and challenges. She lives with her family in Portugal.
I sat on the floor in the attic and turned and turned, diving deeper into my own past with every page.
I laughed at some of the expressions: I had totally blocked out (probably for good reason) the fact that I used the word "götz" excessively when I was 13.
It meant "bad" and "uncool". And of course, due to my teenage years, a lot of things were absolutely "götz" back then.
I found movie tickets and a phone card that I used to secretly call my crush in the phone booth, only to hang up again as soon as someone answered.
I read about quarrels and reconciliations with my girlfriends, about arguments and vacations with my parents and my sister.
The exciting thing was that all the entries reminded me of how I had felt back then, an emotional journey through time. I read about the break-up of my first great love and my heart immediately hurt again and anger flared up.
He had left me when I had visited him during his language study trip to New Zealand. Goetz!
I've been writing a diary again for a year now
The writing has changed again and again over the years, just like me. Reading every line I wrote between the ages of 13 and 18, I felt how busy that time was, how curious and hungry I was for life, and at the same time I had no idea who I was and what it was all about.
At some point, I put the books back in the box and resolved to make the diaries my required reading when my children stumble through puberty one day. As a reminder of how torn I felt during this time and how annoying my parents were.
I've been writing a diary again for a year now. It started by chance. There's always a notebook on my desk where I jot down article ideas, record research or simply write down a word that comes to mind.
At some point, however, I started writing down thoughts that were bothering me, banal and exciting things from my life and one thing in particular: feelings that were overwhelming me.
It's good to put the chaos in my head into words
I realized again how good it is for me to put the chaos in my head into words. Naming vague perceptions exactly, admitting unpleasant truths and simply emptying my brain without having to talk to anyone.
I often only realize what's actually going on in my head after writing. It's like reading an instruction manual for myself.
I now have two notebooks on my desk. One is for work, the other is my diary. There's no lock on it and no boy band stickers.
Just like back then, some entries describe daily life, both pleasant and annoying. Sometimes I scribble down with anger in my stomach what I find "götz".
And now and again, just like back then, I struggle with the really big questions: Who am I and what is all this actually about?
