For three years, I have kept a journal.
It started as a way to vent all my emotions, a way to organize the chaos in my head, and all I had to do was write. I started to figure out how to cope with situations I struggled to understand. It was a way to let go of some of the stress and negative feelings that would weigh down on my heart and mind. Even when I felt so alone, like nobody would understand what I felt, I knew after writing that my concerns and insecurities were valid.
As the years progressed, I started collecting stickers, paper, and any other cute stationary I could find. I wanted to bring life to the memories that I treasure so dearly. To read through it and be able to smile, because my life has been filled with so many positives that deserve to be highlighted and remembered. What once were white pages covered in black pen became colorful visuals. A physical transformation of my thoughts, synonymous with the mental transformation of my growth.
I can read about all my past mistakes, struggles, victories, and every up and down that I fought to get where I am today. Little moments that could have been lost to time stay safe in the pages of my life. I truly believe my commitment to journaling over the years led to my love for writing and passion for journalism. I decided on this career path so I could tell stories of other people instead of just my own.
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