i've never written my diary in one place. pages of it, you'll find in my old unused notebooks, some entries in the papers i might have been using for rough work when i had the impulse to write. most of my entries are in my actual diary of course that i used to maintain when i had my PC but now since i'm all grown up and working, living away from home and being independent etc i make do with my pen-and-paper-in-flesh diary in which i sometimes i stick cards, make doodles, keep my to-do lists, sometimes my bills too. and then there are the rare records of my thoughts - written, stashed away somewhere and then forgotten only to be found when i'm least expecting them. like the unpublished posts on this blog or the posts tagged 'private' that can only be seen by me. when i read them, it's like a breeze of nostalgia swept on my phase. its a funny feeling when you have your thoughts so solidly staring down at you from a page. like yeah, at some point they existed. and i always read them and in my head can't help telling my past self that it all works out in the end, that the worrying was in vain, that i should take it easy and enjoy every moment. and i wonder how i have eased out of it and have new circumstances and set of challenges and the way i feel about them... like my entire way of thinking has evolved.