A photo of home

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I’ve been keeping diaries, with varying success as far as the discipline of daily writing goes, for about 3 years. Every so often the mood takes me to flick back, to see what I was writing six months ago, twelve months ago, eighteen… if I’m ever feeling a little down then I find it helpful to note that things don’t actually bother you for long when you look historically at past issues. Fellow diarists will know that sometimes a problem seems all encompassing until you realise that two months ago you thought the same thing about some other dilemma that has entirely evaporated from your mind, and this usually reassures me that worry is a useless and thankfully temporary state of mind. The 3rd of August is one of those peculiar days where the universe has decreed that I actually wrote something on this day in 2013 and 2012 (that doesn’t happen very often, at least not on the days that I happen to check). I’m not planning on sharing much from either entry because it is embarrassing and largely related to worrying about if a boy likes me and if anyone apart from myself thinks my tummy sticks out in a certain outfit. Even that is embarrassing to type, but I have faith that other people worry about the same thing from time to time and won’t judge too much. The thing which I noticed to seem a little more important, however, is how much I am looking forward to various things in each entry. I briefly outline the ‘dull’ parts of the day then get on to the things that I’d much rather to be writing about already; an upcoming festival and a year later, a weekend in Edinburgh. I am a firm believer in always having something to look forward to, but often I forget to look around me and appreciate the day to day. The current present might not have been an eagerly anticipated moment, but it could very easily become a nostalgic past that someday I long to return to. Life has a funny way of making us miss the very things we didn’t appreciate at the time. Obviously appreciating everything is an impossible ideal that would only lead to appreciating nothing, but that is getting a little too philosophical for me. Last summer, as well as keeping my diary, I was taking photographs of home to remind myself when I felt homesick when I was abroad. This year I am taking photographs of home to remind myself that although things might seem to always stay the same, they will change, and who knows which little things we’ll miss in the future from those quieter days that led up to something; the things we’ll miss when all the moments we awaited are the moments we find ourselves inhabiting?

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