If you write in journals like me, you are sure to have trawled back through them for a read every now and then. And this is where their importance comes to light. You remember a time gone, what has happened since and where you are headed now. Sometimes it's deep, sometimes just a thing.
I write about all sorts, but I found this entry and thought I would share. In fact, I might share a few more in the coming weeks... this is not edited, just typed out from the page - where I wrote in black ink. It was the first entry I wrote in a journal I had bought in Boulder Colorado 4 years earlier. It is a lined journal with an embroidered fabric cover. At the time of this entry I was living in Bondi Beach, Sydney, Australia, and studying for my Honours Degree in Photography at the College of Fine Arts.
This took place outside the post office in Bondi Beach.
First line of a 4 year-old book; a story to tell.
As I left the post office before the stroke of five, I went to the rubbish bin to dispose of my train-station-bought diet coke can, and came across a man rifling through its contents. I watched him select a yellow envelope & proceed to tear the stamps off in a little square.
I said, "Do you like stamps?"
He said he collected them to send to a friend, and that sometimes he was lucky - he showed me his garbage find which bore no postmark or ink stamp. A mint! I said I'd just received a letter from my Aunt in Switzerland and would he like the stamp? Well of course he would, yes please, and I gracefully cut off the corner of the envelope and brought a cleanliness and appreciation to his bin-rifling habit.
I smiled as I wandered away.