I’m Russian. I grew up in New York. I’ve been keeping diaries since I was eight years old.
I’m nostalgic for conversations I had yesterday.
I closed the book, and felt this strange mixture of wistfulness and hope, and I wondered if a memory is something you have or something you’ve lost. For the first time in a long time, I felt at peace.
email me: damiella at gmail dot com
The set-up: Read my old diary entries annotated with (witty?) present-day commentary.
The time: 1985-onward
The point: Entertainment (let's hope!)
The warning: the contents of this blog may contain bad spelling, foul language, inordinate amounts of angst, run-on sentences, excessive commentary on boys, questionable music choices, delusions of grandeur, and the abuse of exclamation marks.
(names have been changed, so don't sue!)
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