Sitting here in silence, I realise that it is almost 2 am in the morning.

Looking through my diary, recalling the days of old, I can hear and see the vision of each memory, deeply etched in my mind.

Yes, time flies, and before I had a blog, I had a diary. You see, my diary is almost 4 years old now. In fact, it is older than some of my neighbourhood kids. It stores slightly over 24 posts, posts that are influenced by anger, deceit, happiness, thankfulness, rejoicing, and almost every other emotion that the human might have.

My computer makes a heck a lot of noise, disrupting my thought process. It may be 1, but the memories of old, they will not disappear, they will not be forgotten, they will be etched in my mind forever. The good times, the bad times, the bittersweet moments, processes, and all. How could I ever forget them.

In fact, I would realise that hardly anyone reads my blog. But my diary contains stuff that I treasure the most. Stuff that I, would not want to blog on here. Private moments, moments of sorrow and that of victory, stored like archives, flooding through my brain even as I recollect every single one of them.

Short, long, they all are important to me.

It may seem that I am rambling off at 2am in the morning, but what better way to rejoice than looking at your diary once more, looking at the things you have succeeded in doing, the trying times that you have passed.

A blog makes you easily vulnerable to hate mail, like some of which my ex classmates would have known.

But dear diary, you who have seen through my darkest days and brightest moments, will never be vulnerable to attacks by malicious people, people who intend harm for you, will never be seen in you, no comments, no hijacking. Just pure thoughts from the reader.

And for that,

I love you.