I took the big red book out of the mahogany sturdy shelf. It was covered in dust and cobwebs and its leaves were turning brown from old age. I dusted it as tears rolled down my cheeks. It was a diary my mother had given to me before she passed on.

When you are angry, you write; when you are depressed, write; when you are crying, write; and you will feel better.

That was her theory, and it somehow worked for me.

I brushed through the old pages, looking for a space to write on as it was already filled with my secrets, fears and past.

Dear diary, I began writing, as I found a little empty corner .Tears wetted the page as I wrote about how i had lost my job and was betrayed by a friend.

Just before keeping it back on the shelf,I glanced through the old pages,reading each diary entry and before I was half way through I began smiling .Seeing how all the problems and fears I had had in the past had somehow all sorted themselves out eventually.

I learnt to look back and see how past problems passed away and so believe that someday this too would pass.

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