Grappling With Myself in My Search for Personal Growth

When we are young we try to grow up fast and now that I’m older, I try to slow time down because everything brings me closer to my mortality, meaning death.

I never regretted keeping a diary. It made me understand some parts of me that heretofore i couldn’t. Like why I am here on planet earth? Why do I have to go to school? How come I feel this way?

There’s just a myriad of questions that my young mind couldn’t comprehend. Why? Why? Why?

How come I am so scared?

Am I the only one feeling this way? In my search for identity, I wrote down my thoughts and no one would me tell me I’m wrong because I wouldn’t let anybody get as much as a glimpse that I was writing it. My diary became my confidant. There wouldn’t anybody to pass judgement on anything that’s written on its pages. Nobody. It’s only myself and although I criticize myself all the time and find fault with myself all the time, I could be gentle to myself. I wouldn’t pass judgement on myself like I would to other people, or other people would pass their judgement on me.

I would write my thoughts on just about anything under the sun. I would write down events that now seems silly. But, yeah, I was different back then, I was young. Maybe not as young as some who were let go by their parents to be on their own.

My upbringing is kind of different than the upbringing in other cultures. Our parents were probably more protective parents than other parents. We weren’t treated as adults when we turn 18. Our parents try to oversee our journeys through life in their own parental way. I feel that it may haven’t been the best way to raise a child but that simply was their way. And to be clear, not everybody of my culture was raised that way.

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