A Story About Wolves

Happy Birthday G! Hope you have a great day – Jennifer xoxo

Monday, 12 July

Words, words, whatever words. Words which will never be read. I will never read these words. I once tried to keep a diary, it didn't stick. I hate my words. They are meaningless, and directionless. My friends are creative. They make things which matter. I was given this for my birthday. Jessica insisted that I should also create things. What can I create with a diary? Words.

To create is to be alive. To create is to be.

One hundred years from now, nothing I make will exist. Nothing I do will matter. Not even writing this.

This is meant to be good for my mental health. But last time I tried to re-read a diary, I destroyed it.

Tuesday, 13 July

What is it to be a human? Humanitarianism. Do we have an intrinsic value just because we are? To think is to be. But once I die, so do my thoughts. And if I forget these words, then did they ever exist? Do I exist outside of these words? Would I exist if they were never written down?

Who do we remember? The creators, the artists and poets. The conquerors, the rulers. The anarchists. The scientists. And if I am remembered, then what? Schools will teach about me. Museums will display me. And other humans will want to learn about me.

To them, these words I have written have more value than other words, simply because they are mine.

Wednesday, 14 July

I saw my Dad briefly today. A quick intersection of our lives. Eye contact. A nod of acknowledging that yes we are both humans going through this crazy thing called existence. And yes, we are both alive. I asked how work has been. Uneventful. He has emotions regarding it. So do all of us. He doesn't ask how school has been. He doesn't ask me anything.

To exist is to create. Does my father create. His existence impacts my life.

Does my existence impact his?

Financially, yes. Emotionally, yes. But. He would exist without me. I would not exist without him.

Friday, 23 July

I forgot I had a diary.

Jennifer forgot she got me one. I mentioned it to her today.

I think she gave it to me because she had it in her house. And had forgotten it was my birthday. And just bought some chocolates to go along with it. Scribbled a meaningless message at the front and passed it off.

There is nothing more to report.

Tuesday, 27 July

Nothing to report on my life. Something no one asked about.

Monday, 9 August

A pack of wolves appeared outside my window.

They watched me for a while, as I sat in my room. I felt like a fish in a bowl, however I soon came to realise that I was not being watched by hunting cats, toying with me. More by curious outsiders like visitors at an aquarium.

One was dark brown, strong and amiable. Two were grey, adventurous and reserved respectively. One was fawn, reliable and constant. Three of them were pups, with hazel speckled coats, each as playful as they were acquiescent. One was a deep grey bordering on black; he was courageous and ambitious. And one was white. The largest of them all, and the wisest. Although they all varied in appearance, size and breed, she was their mother in a bond thicker than blood, and stronger than man.