Diary Entry 001

Personal memories and traditions. Things I can't go back to. January 2nd, 2025.

Dear diary,

My existence goes on for another year. I would have woken up earlier this morning but my lethargic brain would not allow me to. I slept for another hour, although I must admit it felt like multiple. I had a dream, most of it is a black and white blur by now but it was a good dream, it felt strangely familiar.

I hesitantly got out of a bed I did not bother to make, a little pleasure I allowed myself to experience.

New Year's Eve was not as exciting as it used to be. In fact, there was something surprisingly dull about this year for some reason I still don’t know. I had some food my parents made for me, wrote things I ended up deleting, and barely talked to anyone other than my parents, best friend; and partner, which, being sincere is all I truly need.

However, I find myself trying so ardently to come to a conclusion to why the earth concluding one revolution around the sun felt so unimportant. Perhaps it is because I’ve made it to a point where getting older is no longer something exciting, nor motive for celebration but rather a terrifying and never changing reminder that my existence is slowly coming to an end.

I want to force myself into believing that in that dream that I had, I was reliving one of my preferred memoirs, which took place a decade ago.

And, if you don’t mind, allow me to describe it to you.

December 31st, 2014. Villa Clara, Cuba.

I was five years old. Both my parents and I were staying at my grandfather’s house on the outskirts of Santa Clara. I’d woken up to the warmth of the sun rays peeking through the window and the crow of a rooster. I happily had breakfast and in a rapid manner went outside to meet my friends—who I never heard of after my visit. We would run around the neighborhood, barefoot, hair flowing in the wind and that characteristic toddler laughter would fill the place. I would make my grandpa chase the chicks he took care of in his backyard, and entertain myself by seeing him run away from the mom trying to protect her babies. My dad would call me to get lunch, and I, with dirty little feet, would run to the table where my family waited. By 3:30 in the afternoon I enjoyed resting in my room, which would usually lead to me sleeping for the next two hours.

I’d wake up once again to the sound of music already playing in the neighborhood, everyone planning their yearly tradition once the clock hit 12:00, marking the start of a new year. All my family was getting ready, and so did I.

At 10:00, my family and I had finished eating dinner and sat by the entrance, patiently waiting for the tradition to take place. It consisted of a scarecrow, made by the people in the neighborhood that would stand tall in the middle of the street. As the time got closer to the start of a new beginning, people would dance around it, play music, and I could swear someone settled a table to play dominoes.

By 11:57 we all stood up, getting a bit closer to the symbolic scarecrow and starting the countdown for what, in that moment, would be a brand new year.

Once it had reached zero, while people cheered, applauded, and hugged each other, the scarecrow was lit on fire, symbolizing the year coming to an end and taking everything that happened with it.

My mom held me in her arms and happily said “It’s 2015,” to which I cheered with content. My eyes still focused on the burning figure before me, slowly descending into mere ashes.

Two days ago, the realization that a decade has passed since I witnessed such tradition for the first and last time hit me. I cannot recall the last time I spent New Year’s Eve with my family, but I know it was a long time ago.

I feel like I am talking too much already.

I’m going to try sleeping again, perhaps another memory of a better time will visit me tonight.

I’ll write to you again tomorrow—maybe.

Thank you for listening, xoxo.

Emily.

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⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Hello beautiful! I found this piece when rereading my journal and thought it was worth sharing. Going back in my memories and writing about them has always been really fun. I think I might start posting more writings from my journal, perhaps they could serve as inspiration for your journalism process. Thank you for reading. Have a beautiful day!