One of the first days after my dad had moved into Saint Paul, after my sister and I had gotten situated into our miniscule bedroom, my dad bought me a small diary to write in. “I know you’re angry about living here,” he told me, “so I want you to write about how you feel.” The first time I opened the diary, I remember its feather-thin pages smelling strongly of old books, filling my nose and sticking to my clothes. I drove myself to do as he said, and I aggressively wrote as much as I could about my life in that tiny diary. As I got older and adjusted myself more to the Twin Cities, I stopped writing in it, but recently, I went back to my pile of old Boxcar Children books and found it again. Reading through the old and crumpled pages, I got to revisit a chapter of my life that was very difficult for me. Within it is detailed how I lamented being separated from all my close friends and family, how hard it was for me to adjust to a new life, plus a very justified but naive anger towards the world, and later on how I first felt towards my father’s marriage and new family. As I get older, that time feels farther and farther away, but it will always be a present part of me, maintained in the form of this diary. 

– Chloe W

Relationship:  unknown unknown