stephanie yang

a friend asked me this weekend if i kept a journal and though my answer was yes, it got me to thinking about what a journal is. how it has evolved from the locked diary we stashed expectantly under our bed, into the sophisticated, leather bound books we carry with us, hanging out in plain view…and more recently, into the shimmering display of black text telling stories in an online world.

journals are repositories of words, of ideas, of dreams. in mine, i write down my anger, find meaning in a miscommunication, uncover a kernel of peace…and find the strength to keep going. it is not the words that matter so much as the process of putting word after word on paper, on screen. i write to listen. i write to discover. i write to be. to simply, be.

my journal is a space for me to breathe. to paint an image of my layers of vulnerability through words, through scratches of ink on a once blank white page. it is there that i find unconditional love. unwavering belief that i am ok…that nothing about who i am is wrong. every struggle, every strength, every fear, every dream…everything is good because it makes up the whole.

and yet. in this journal, i secret a fear of discovery. always wondering “what if”. what if something were to happen to me, and then my friends, my family…or just, others, were to pluck it from my belongings and read. what if someone else read those words. what if someone else, someone i didn’t choose, were to peer through the fragility of the images i project and see the broken little girl who still cries in dark corners, grasping onto elusive dreams of a distant mother’s love. what if they saw that? what if this “other” saw the images i drew that spoke of desires i only dare whisper into being. what if those eyes also saw the intensity of boundless self love i have unleashed on myself, that i claim with a ferocity that laughs shame out the door. what if you saw the inherent contradictions in me. what if?

what if the world were to see me, truly, as i am. simply perfect in her imperfections. struggling fiercely with self doubt…with a past that wasn’t kind. what if others knew that daily, i am learning to embrace both my light and my shadow…that i am learning to sit in the intensity of both. what if? what would happen if i were step outside of the pages of my journal and let you see me. all of me. what if?

well, i guess, the world would not end. the sky would not fall. i would still be here – no less a person than i was before external eyes and ears danced around with my private words. so i dare myself to show you who i really am. i dare you to look. to see. to truly see. me.

speaking of dares, i recently played a game of “truth or dare” with friends, wondering if i would be faced with either a truth or a dare that threatened to reveal the vulnerabilities of my desire…one which i would have had to gracefully decline…yet, it never materialized. that night, i realized that in me lies a repository of truth, of strength, of confidence…no matter how many masks i put on. i don’t have to run away. i don’t have to slam the cover shut. i don’t have to hide.

as i write tonight, the fear around this “what if” dissolves, dissipates, disintegrates. my words conquer fear. my fears. and through them i find the strength to step out, to take off the layers upon layers of masks, of armor i have persuaded myself i need to wear. it is a strip-tease of sorts…with a playground twist…if you show me yours, i’ll show you mine.