Recover the fragments in our lives

I had a diary, where I could record the events and ideas which occurred that day. Say, a rain that successfully made it through my seemingly vulnerable ceiling, the last trip I went on with one of my best friends, the postcard sent by her with many a beautiful, cherished recollection, and thoughts absorbing me after some important moments took place from time to time.

But it was yonks ago. Now I don’t even know where I put the diary.

A couple of decades ago, people created a novel tool to substitute diaries with, and invented a new verb called blog. It was good, and it could be very sophisticated if one used WordPress, but it seemed somewhat to fall under the category of serious stuff or stuff written by the tech-savvy.

So now most of the people use Twitter, or other social media platforms. It’s extremely convenient. It can be about anything in our lives. We can instantly share them with others, see how they react and watch other people’s lives.

However, sometimes, things seem a little bit off:

The unnecessary hesitation.

The urge to impress.

The daunting task of socialising instead of recording.

The editing of text that is meant to write to ourselves, but more or less trimmed or glossed after deliberation in the social context.

It is in the very shift of perspective — from ourselves to others — that we too often miss the point. The sense of getting along with what has recently occurred to us, preserving what really means something to us, and leaving a probably unnoticeable trace that has once belonged to us in our life courses, is no more.

I’m not suggesting social media is bad, or that others don’t matter. I’m saying it should not be the only option for everyday recording. In fact, I’m using Twitter because there’s almost no other way to easily and casually do it. Sometimes it’s better to have a space to journal in where there is only oneself, like a good old blog, but more casual.

It’s true. I tried. Not the WordPress sort of thing, of course, too cumbersome. One may as well just put a lock on their Twitter account, but it always seems so awkward to me perhaps because of its social nature. I was (and am) using another platform, where you can send short pieces of text just like in Twitter, but which feel minimal, personal.

Honestly, journaling in your own space makes you more light-hearted, more comfortable, like a bird untethered. It is absolutely stress-free when you’re not composing a tweet and what you say must make some sense, but rather writing whatever comes to your mind, whatever touches your heart, however subtle or sentimental it may seem to others. There’s a phrase in Japanese for it, 思うままに. And it can somehow take on the feeling of being home not living under a sub path, but rather having a separate domain.

At the end of the day, it’s feeling that you’ve left your future self some precious memories to explore that matters, not winning likes and approvals on social media. After all, life is too large to fit in 280 letters, even though the most moving parts are usually a few connected moments over your life course. But, imagine, that these moments are popping sparks that have to jump and ignite other sparks, twinkling stars in the vast night sky to be linked to form a constellation, or delicate paper boats scattered across a long, long stream and awaiting their reunion. The only person that can draw connections between and thereby make sense of these fragments, is you. And it may very well take time, patience and opportunity.

It is so to me. When rushing by in the city only to suddenly notice a place that couldn’t be more familiar. When seeing and chatting with an old friend to look back on what was behind us and to catch up on how things were going. When, after a long period passed, the grief of a loss finally turned into the gratitude for the warmth we’d been given.

Express yourself. Rediscover yourself. For yourself.

Reveal. Record. Remember.

And that’s how Frella was born.