At some point in my life, I noticed that my memory doesn’t serve me well when it comes to remembering incidents from my life. While other people can be entertaining dinner hosts, animating whole evenings with anecdotes about places they’d been and people they’d met, my mind would go blank, and I would be forced to listen, rather than contribute. While that isn’t so bad in a social setting – not everybody needs to be talking all the time – it does fill me with fear when I think about old age. I don’t have children yet; regrettably, I don’t have a partner yet with whom to have children, at the age of 38, at which I am writing this. But I hope that one day, I will. And to then not have anything to tell them about my life, and – later still – to not be able to tell stories to my grandchildren, would fill me with much sadness. And so I decided at the beginning of this new decade to start writing a diary. This is it.
Update January 2014: If you want to email: theouterrimmilan [at] gmail.com – no idea if I will answer. Depends totally on what you write.
Update May 2015: I’ve got a girl-friend now, for 10 months now, I am no longer by myself.
Update May 2016: We broke up. Alone again.