Her Diary, Her Best Friend

There was a time when Naina felt she needed friends to talk to, to share her innermost feelings with, to confide in, to be able to express her fears or joys. Buddies to whom she could reveal her true self without fearing them to be judgmental or thinking otherwise. She could bare her soul in front of that one person or maybe a couple. Alas, that person never came along..The search was in vain.

Many a times she felt close to someone, but her feelings weren't reciprocated, so that was the end of it. Because, for Naina, reciprocation held a great deal of significance. In this worldly world, she wasn't a selfish or a self-centered person, she could be a selfless friend but only if she was reciprocated. Her definition of reciprocation was that the person she felt close to or the person for whom she could go out of her way to do anything should feel the same for her. But somewhere always, the feeling was missing.

It was true that “Good books, like good friends, are few and chosen; the more select, the more enjoyable.”  

There were times when she felt so lost, so depressed. At such junctures, she found no one who would lend her a ear or who would comfort her and say its okay and that this will pass. Disheartened that she was she found solace in writing. Yes she saw a lot of blogs on the Internet. But what she always wondered was how could some people have online diaries, how could a person be so open so as to write things so personal. On the contrary, she preferred to write in a diary. By diary, I mean a real diary, not an online one.

She bought a nice handmade paper diary, the cover was real attractive and a nice pen to go with it. From now on, she decided, the diary would be her best friend. She wrote in it when she felt sad, she penned down her thoughts when she was elated. She even noted down quotes in her diary which made her feel good. It was the diary was her mute buddy, one who was always there to give her space to write on, she could always take the support of the bare blank empty pages, she felt healed and pacified after having written anything in her dear diary. One who would not expect anything in return, and yet reciprocate. One who wouldn't have any say and yet always be there.


The action of writing on real paper had a magical quality to it, thoughts transformed into words and put down on paper strangely composed the mind.

Naina found it so much easier to befriend a diary, after all making friends was a tough task. Then it was all the more difficult to keep a friendship. And so, she found happiness with her only best friend, her diary, her friend for life.