Why I’m Here: A Notebook I Won’t Lose

Now I will tell you a heartbreaking story about why I’m here, although I won't mention one detail that you'll find out at the very end of the article, and that detail also matters.

"When I was seven years old, my mother divorced my father. He moved to another country, and since then, our lives have taken different paths. I haven’t seen him in adulthood, and strangely enough, it seems that we are both perfectly fine with that. We don’t keep in touch, and I don’t feel a pressing need to. To me, he is almost a stranger—a shadow I know only through fragments of my mother's stories, which are devoid of warmth or any special memories.

But it saddens me a bit that I’ve never had the opportunity to understand him from his own perspective. My mother told me his story from the viewpoint of an aggrieved woman, and these narratives gradually shaped my mind’s image of a person I’ve never been close to. He remains, for me, a character—almost fictional.

Sometimes I imagine a different scenario. Imagine if my father kept a diary. He wrote down his thoughts, fears, and worries—perhaps even dreams he never dared to share with anyone. And then one day, he lost that diary, and I found it. Perhaps it would become a window into his world, a chance to see him as he truly was, rather than through the filter of someone else's disappointment. I could read his entries, the questions he asked himself in silence, his inner struggles. Maybe in those lines, I would find something familiar, something we shared—some common fear, doubt, or even hope.

Such a discovery would change my view of him. It wouldn’t matter what kind of father he was—whether he made good decisions or made mistakes. I would see him as a person with his strengths and weaknesses. I would learn how he felt about this world, how he reacted to pain and joy. This would give me more understanding than hundreds of my mother’s stories.

And this doesn’t apply only to my father. I’ve thought about it in relation to my grandfathers, whom I knew only from photographs. Photographs are merely snapshots—frozen moments of life. They tell us nothing about what was going on inside a person. If I had access to their thoughts, if I could find their old notebooks or notes, I’m sure it would allow me to truly know them—to know people I never really knew.

That’s why I write. Each of my texts is not just an expression of thoughts for today. It’s my notebook, which I don’t want to lose. It’s a trace I leave behind so that someone, perhaps someday, might understand me—not through others’ stories or filters, but as I truly am.

Every thought I write down is not only for me but also for those who come after me. We will all eventually become mere shadows for future generations. And I want my shadow to be something more than just a photograph on a shelf—something alive, something real."

Everything I wrote is true, and these words come from the depths of my heart. However, there’s something I forgot to mention—no, I didn’t forget; I just didn’t want to spoil such a beautiful text by saying that I’m also here to try to monetize my content. After all, even shadows need to survive in this world.