This is the FIRST time in my life that I keep something vaguely similar to an account of my personal life.
When I was Younger I always wanted to have a diary to whom confide my deepest secrets, like Anna Frank. I saved up all my pocket money which was around $1 per week ( just to let you know how miserable my finances were at the time ) for months and months. In the end, I had enough money to buy myself my dream diary, one of those with a lock and a key ( to give me a false sense of security ) and the front coverered by hearts.
Unfortunately, my mum was not like one of those parents who have to have total control over their children : she never actually searched my room to find my much advertised diary ( at least, if she searched, she was clever enough not to leave traces around and, to this day, I am still convinced that she did not bother to do it ). And my brothers never were interested in those girlie things as diaries are. So I could not blame my family for any major adolescential crisis which could be hold responsible for any failure in my future professional and personal life.As such, then, I gave up on my diary. That is, until NOW.