When my diary speaks up

I don’t have a name. She never calls me with specific name. Calls me just “notebook”. I heard when she told her sister. -Give me that notebook.

-Which one? You have 50 notebooks.

-The red one.

So, you can call me notebook as well.

I am almost at the end of my life. The ones before me had lived for 365 days. It will be same with me. As writings on me are getting more and more and my sheets are getting less, I feel sad. I wish I would hold back the day which I will go to the bookshelf. But everyone will go from this world one day. What can we do?

I look at the old notebooks. They are stacked in a corner of the bookshelf. She remembers my siblings once in a year when she rearranges her books. She cleans their dusts, turns the pages over. Sometimes she reads them for some time. She becomes thoughtful after that. I can’t understand.

Whenever she is like that, I pay for that. What the hell I did? She writes so hard by pressing pen on me that I feel breathless. I feel like my sheets will be torn now.

- Can you press this fucking pen slowly? I shout but she doesn’t hear.

Although she hurts me so much, still I wait for her every night. Who else I have apart from her? My time starts after she comes back from work and takes rest. She opens me before sleep. First, she writes something on other notebooks. It takes so short. Then she comes on me. Opens, closes, writes, stops for some time, again writes.

She writes every day.

I look at her face when she writes. Sometimes she writes smiling. At that time pen doesn’t hurt me. As words are written one by one, I feel like she is caressing me. I know that something good has happened. Sometimes she cries while writing. Then I know that situation is not good.

I am worn out because of so many openings and closings. My color is faded now. When her favorite boss gave me to her as a present, I was bright red.

Look at me now. Ink spots, dirt. And my life is going to end soon.

Never mind my complaints. If she forgets me even for a day, I will destroy the world.

She writes everything on me. What happened at work, what happened at home, how she feels.

These days she is not getting along with her dad. Actually, it never went well. She had written so many complaints about him on the notebooks before me. They had quarrel years ago. And it hasn’t been fixed after that. As far as I understand it will never be fixed.

She remembers Kafka so much, that’s why I know. Even she doesn’t, there are so many Kafkas at her apartment, from bookmarks to notebooks.

Sometimes she takes me to her job in her bag. I like to travel by metro. When she gets on metro, she put the book on her knees and keeps me in her bag. I feel drowning.

When she reaches job, she says just hi, good morning to her colleagues and that’s it. She doesn’t talk with anyone. She just sits alone like an owl. Her colleagues gossip about her. They call her rude, unsociable and misanthrope. But she doesn’t care. She even writes these things on me with proud.

If you knew how painful it is. She doesn’t write on her own language so that someone can read it at home, and I can feel relaxed. I can at least be sure that something read me and I am not alone with so many words. Poor me.

Every day I listen to her problems. This happened at work, that happened at home.

I have suspected something as well. Sometimes she writes enthusiastically, then she stops suddenly. She has black notebook. God knows where she keeps it. She brings that one and writes. I have seen it several times. When she writes about unknown “he”, she changes the notebook. I am sure that she complains in that notebook too.

Apart from complaining, she makes me mad. She is never satisfied. She wakes up early morning, writer and reads before going to work. After work also same things.

But at night she writes on me that “unproductive day”. 24 hours aren’t enough for her.

I think I made enough gossip about her. My heart was full. Now I am feeling light.

So, it is time to go. She is calling me. I wish she would write something good on my last days. I wish I could go happily to the bookshelf…

 

 

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