My first love? Well, that’s a tough one. It is tough because I haven’t used this word very often.. As of now, I don’t really know how to define love. Is it something that you find comfort in? Something that accepts you for who you are, something that accepts the rain and the sunshine that comes with you? I don’t know.

But if it is that, then I love writing.

I’ve been ‘Dear Diary,-ing’ all through my childhood and I still continue to do so. The reason why I started and then continued to write was because there was a different kind of comfort and ease that came with ranting to a source which never questions back. What I find amusing is that every time I write, I play the role of both the therapist and the client. As Freud put it years ago, my ego and superego tend to take charge when I am writing and listen to my id’s meltdown. It helps me gain insight and thus helps me in finding answers to the why’s in my life.

Popular Bollywood and Hollywood movies seem to be restricting journaling to teenage girls and women, thus making it gender specific and seem to show to some major extent that all that they talk about is..well love life problems. That’s honestly too problematic because in real life, that’s not how it goes. Writing is a form of expression which is and should be accessed by every human.

Personally, writing brings the same comfort that a long hug does. It is like a conversation with a friend who will listen to you and be there for you no matter what time, be it 12 pm or 12 am, without belittling your problems or questioning them.

For the longest time, until very recently I used to think that not crying very easily and not showing your emotions was a sign of strength, but it turns out that that is not true. The only way to deal with emotions is to process them, and writing down what I feel helps me do that.

Writing has provided blind support to the 13 year old me, who felt that she was not good enough, to the 16 year old me who was trying very hard to be the person she wanted to be and also to the 18 year old me who was slowly getting comfortable, being uncomfortable.

That stack of 10 diaries piled in a safe secret corner of my cupboard are my first best friend. They know the most uncensored version of my thoughts.

I feel that no matter how much my understanding of love evolves (hopefully), journaling will always hold the first place in that long list. That’s because it helps me be me but also pushes me to be better.

And umm… is that not what a major part of love is?