The Secret Book.

I swell with every fact that I digest, I cry with every sorrow that I help divide, I beam with every joy that I get to share, I hope with determination that every promise will be fulfilled, I evolve with every word that is written on me. I count the days of the year over and over again and I do not get tired of it. I have been on this earth since long and have been the source of most information that you human’s today have. Like the flowing river, my pages flow with ink, with feelings, with untold miseries, with secret joys and I am the most patient listener.

I first met my mistress on the eve of 31^st December, 2011. I perceived her to be a sea of emotions who was in love with me from the first time she saw me. She flipped through my pages, wrote her name on my first page, wrote the birthdays of all the humans she loved on the last page. She read all my sayings on every page of mine as though savouring and reflecting and realising each one of them. That night she kept me at her bed-side and was the first one to wish me, “Happy New Year!” She picked me up a lot of times, snuggled me close to her heart, hugged me and observed me thoroughly. She scrutinized my wooden oak cover, the symbolism of time with the various letters of the alphabet and saw to it that each time I was very carefully placed back into my cover. She seemed to appreciate me as a confidante, a friend who will never judge her, a soul-seeker, a medium of escape, an Elixir of Life, an abstract person who will never judge her but will listen to her patiently. She called me “Diary” and thus I started my life span at her delicate yet strong human hands.

The New Year passed and she wrote on me narrating her day. She also recollecting her previous year and I could see a thin film form in her eyes blurring her vision. I wonder as to what might have caused my dear mistress such distress! But I think she was shy for she did not tell me anything that day about her except that she wished the upcoming year to go better than the last one: thus ended the first day of my life. I was fresh then, excited, dainty and had a musty smell hanging around me. Slowly and gradually, my mistress opened up and started to tell me bit by bit about her. I would always be at her bed-side waiting for night to come when she would pick me up and pour her feelings, her anguish, her innermost fears and sadness onto me and form a secrecy bond with me. My mistress was an ardent believer of believing in the good of her race. She always used to tell me that good shall be done and that one day all things shall fall into place. And so, she continued to tell me everything.

It's not about the words written there, it's about the feelings poured and scribbled into it:
Raw and Bare!!!

She marked some days as important. She was to go to college that year and she told me all about it. She vividly told me of her first day in college and told me about disliking the fact that there were no uniforms. I found her to be the most exquisite women in the world who matured as the time went by. She became busy and couldn’t attend to me every day but I was content with it. I knew her better than anyone else. To me she was raw, bare and without the fear of hiding anything or the doubt of being ridiculed. At times, she cried onto me. I soaked in her tears, provided her solace by providing her my pages on which she wrote incessantly, became her mother by making her read my quotes again. She used to thank me a lot for listening to her and said she was grateful to me. I felt thankful that I was something to someone in this world. Maybe I am just 380 pages with a cover for the whole world but for my mistress I am a candle in the dark, a spark of hope in the midst of despair.

The days went by and soon it was December. I was at the winter of my life span and was soon going to be short of pages for my mistress. I looked onto her and was happy and sad at the same time. I felt happy to see her become stronger and matured day by day and I felt sad at the mere thought that my journey with her was going to end. Nevertheless, we made the best of the few days left. She rarely left me: always reading what she had written earlier. She again observed my wooden cover which was not so intact then, flipped my pages which were not so crisp then and on the eve of January 2013, said a silent bye. But she returned back to me once in a while, finding relief in me as Man returns unto dust. Today, as I convey to you this story of my life, I am glad and fortunate to have born as a diary for it helped me to know human beings as no other form shall know.