Writing occupies a peculiar place; it is most often understood as an act of communication - writers seek to argue, persuade, and publish. Any introductory writing class will discuss how to identify and connect with your intended audience. This lesson has merits, as professional writers and authors need to know who they are writing for. This question of audience is even more relevant if you wish to be paid for your writing. However, for me, this question of who is interested in reading my writing sparks a kind of metaphysical dread that, at times, becomes paralyzing. For most of my life, I have dreamed of being a Writer. As a kid, I wanted to craft fantasy worlds, and as a teen, I dreamed of becoming an investigative journalist. Today, I am (unfortunately) none of these things in my “real” life. Several factors have prevented me from pursuing any of these interests, but one obstacle was harder to overcome than others: self-doubt. Anytime I would start a project the crippling question of “who cares” would ring in my mind replacing excitement and passion with fear and anxiety. While the fear of people not liking my writing is pervasive, to me, something scarier has always festered beneath. What I truly fear is that no one will ever read what I write. This fear is reflective of my concern regarding the relevance of my writing rather than the quality of it.

It's bearable for someone to read my writing and decide it's bad. I can heal the wound with a wry thought: 'There's no accounting for taste.' For a reader to dislike my writing, they must invest time and thought into it, and how they interpret and react to it is out of my control. What I find unbearable is the idea of passionately writing a piece, going through the tedious editing process, only for it to remain unread and unseen. It is the question of “What if the thing I cherish most, my passions and my innermost self, the things that define me, matters only to me—and no one else?” Humans ache to connect and be heard, but to me, this fear means that I have done my best to be heard, but still, no one listens. It is a fear that confronts me with my insignificance.  

This fear may be a product of my specifically Gen-Z upbringing. In the internet age, so much of our lives are curated for the visual consumption or commodification of others. It is nearly impossible to do something without the ephemeral weight of your “presence,” your aesthetic, or your image weighing down. The shadow of social media nags, stressing the need to document and present moments as bids to others for connection and attention. Take the ubiquitous caption “Instagram eats first” as an example. This is not a new complaint or even a grievance *I* specifically have- as I know nothing different. I am, however, as a personal exercise, trying to become comfortable with the feeling of not being heard, or at least caring less if I am. In 2025, I am starting this blog as a diary of sorts- a log of my inner world and thoughts about various world events written for me.

The act of writing, in some metaphysical way, seeks to remove space between the reader and writer; it is a bid for communication and connection. The personal diary does this with the self, and this year, I aim to connect with myself more. While I do view my social media as a sort of diary, it is still curated and meant for people to view. Social media is the ever-so-talked-about “highlight reel” of a life. I think there is a marked difference in the function of a diary and even an informal Instagram feed. The diary acts as an intimate and permanent record of your inner world at a particular moment. It acts as a physical product of mental ruminations, hopes, and desires. 

While the main motivation for beginning this project is a desire to organize and process my maelstrom of thoughts more fruitfully, there is another reason I wish to keep this diary- a historical record. It is often said history is not a particular thing or event; rather, it is the narrative of the present told back to us. To me, this means that every day, I am part of history in some way. Today, as I am at this moment, serves an active part of what will become history. Not every day feels as such. I have a boring job and a boring life, and I do not have any particular sway in directing the arc of history. However, I cannot help but feel the world is tumbling into chaos around me. 

Since 2020, every week brings a new “unprecedented” event. As 2025 begins, the news is dominated by urgent updates on a bird flu outbreak and a measles outbreak in Texas. At the same time, the White House has announced a halt to all scientific communication, the NIH is facing massive budget cuts, and the U.S. has withdrawn from the WHO. Meanwhile, efforts are underway to weaken or dismantle the CDC, and the Senate has confirmed a vaccine denier as the new Secretary of Health and Human Services. The news is also filled with notices of stock market downturns and potential economic ramifications of a promised 25% tariff on imports from Mexico and Canada and 10% on imported Chinese goods. Actions that are sure to result in increased prices for consumers who are already being squeezed for every dime they have from greedy corporations. As Russia’s invasion of Ukraine rages on, Elon Musk has decimated USAID, which helps tens of millions of people a year by providing medical equipment, water, food, and other vital aid. As of today, February 3, 2025, the USAID website has been shut down and there have been stop work orders issued globally. The past decade has also seen a dramatic democratic backsliding in countries such as Hungary, Turkey, Poland, various EU member states, and of course, the United States. Right-wing populist movements are also growing in France, Germany and Austria. With so many “unprecedented” events occurring, I constantly feel off-kilter and angry with nowhere to direct these thoughts. 

This is the principal reason I have decided to start this online diary of sorts. I feel useless as I watch the safeguards of democracy be dismantled. I feel helpless as Pete Hegseth, a rapist, serial abuser, and alcoholic is confirmed as the Secretary of Defense. I feel helpless as the FBI is gutted of career professionals, I feel helpless as our president spits in the faces of our strongest allies. However, unprecedented times inevitably become history, and I hope that my diary will one day be of use as a record of this period of history. I truly believe the US is on a knife’s edge precariously teetering towards the collapse of our democracy. We are on the path of becoming a destabilizing agitator to the international order; our media companies are more consolidated than ever, and tech billionaires are integrated into our government in ways previously unseen. Different apolitical governmental institutions are being gutted and politicized, such as the FBI and the US federal workforce. Donald Trump is blatantly ignoring judges' orders as the US catapults towards a constitutional crisis. In my bones, I feel as though this time in history is critical, and I feel a duty to record it for future generations of historians. 

Diaries have often acted as important historical documents, archives that record a specific sentiment of a particular person at a specific moment in history. Diaries are not a new concept and have long played a crucial role in reconstructing the past. They date back to ancient times, with examples found in ancient Egypt. One notable early diary, The Pillow Book by Sei Shōnagon, was written during Japan’s Heian period. Serving as both a personal reflection and a record of court life, it captures daily events and thoughts from Shōnagon’s time as a court lady to Empress Consort Teishi. The book was completed in 1002 AD and translation was finished in 2006. During the Renaissance, diaries gained popularity as they aligned with emerging concepts of self-identity and individual expression. Many well-known diarists from the 1700s and 1800s, such as Lewis Carroll, Louisa May Alcott, Albert Camus, and Hansine Andræ, are still influential today. Additionally, diaries serve an important role in reconstructing historical narratives. Works like The Diary of Lena Mukhina, The Diary of Samuel Pepys, and The Diary of Anne Frank provide intimate and vital insights into the experiences of individuals during truly horrifying times. These documents exist as critical historical accounts of appalling abuses endured by individuals under authoritarian and fascist regimes despite government efforts to hide such suffering. With the historical value diaries have, I think of a quote often attributed to Sir. Walter Scott, (I wasn’t able to find the source of this, but I find the sentiment to still be relevant today.) The quote states, “What is a diary as a rule? A document useful to the person who keeps it. Dull to the contemporary who reads it and invaluable to the student, centuries afterwards, who treasures it.”  It is with this quote in mind that I also start this personal diary project.

The generations before mine have failed spectacularly when it comes to the climate crisis. In 2023, the global average temperature was more than 1.5°C above pre-industrial temperatures- surpassing a critical benchmark, emphasizing the urgency of the climate crisis. Instead of addressing this crisis responsibly, one of the first executive orders that Donald Trump signed expanded oil drilling, cut environmental protections, undid efforts of the Biden administration to advance solar and wind energy projects, and pulled out of the Paris Climate Agreement. As a 24-year-old, these initiatives are horrifying. I will not have children because I am afraid of impending climate collapse. Many of my friends are also not going to have children because of the impending climate collapse. In worst-case scenario models, by the time I am 50, many, many coastal cities will be completely underwater. Due to greed and intellectual laziness, our parents and grandparents have condemned us to a future where having children isn't an option, where buying a house isn't an option, and where social security and Medicare are not guaranteed. Due to their inaction and selfishness, we will bear the burden of the consequences. When history looks back at this time, I want there to be a record of what has happened, and I want there to be accountability for those who chose to do this. 

I am, of course, writing this with an ulterior motive. I am not writing this solely to establish my reasoning for beginning this project or to explain its historical context. If I truly wanted no one to read my writing, I would keep this post unpublished. I am publishing this to convince you- whoever may be reading this (if you exist), to keep a diary too. Record what you see happening, and keep it close because you may not see its merit now, and it may not be read - but in 1000 years, your diary may be priceless.