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Why am I writing like this, about myself? I've always thought journal-keeping frivolous, self-serving. Why dither about one's self when there are much greater things to be pondered, much more meaningful things to be said that are poignant to all, and not just one's ego?
That is, after all, why people have written diaries throughout history -- for the sake of their 'I.' So that others would know it as they do, know the 'real' them. Few would be so foolish as to provide a written record of their thoughts and feelings if they did not mean for it to be read. Though I do admit that most journals were written in the knowledge (no, the hope) that they would never be opened by another until after their author's death, if the journal is not burned, then its author wishes it known. Thus a diary becomes a sort of historical record, a way for the writer to pass on his life, his opinions, even after death.
I wonder just how unbiased a memoir written as lesson, message, or chronicle of self can be. Even the act of writing, and thus asserting that one's ideas are worth passing on, is its own small kind of arrogance. If a journal's purpose is to show others the 'true' you, do you even notice if you begin to falsify things slightly in your favor? Does it even feel like falsehood? One can never know how biased, how falsified a record of another's life is. One can only trust the words of the author.
Mine will be burnt.
Posted by Aanson at October 18, 2005 10:57 PM
I look forward to reading more of Aanson's musings. It would be theraputic for him to write I think.
Or I'm just saying that so you write more.
Posted by: Utopia at October 28, 2005 05:07 AM