I recently spent some time at my parents’ house back in my home country. I was in the kitchen when my attention was suddenly caught by a notebook with something written which looked like my teen writing. I came closer and realized it was part of a diary I wrote when I was 13 in a boarding school in
the UK. I clearly remember that such country was not exciting at all during the several summers I spent there as a kid. That is why when the teacher of English Literature told me to keep a daily diary that she would supervise I did not put too much effort into it.
At some point she wrote on her corrections that I should not just describe what I did during the day but also introduce my feelings. That is precisely the last page of the notebook that I was able to rescue since my family was using the empty spaces on the pages to write grocery lists.
I curiously went through my writings and realized that the teacher failed to realize that my feelings were indeed there; sometimes with symbols and others between the lines. It was precisely a ‘feeling of lack of feelings’ since what I was doing in that school produced great apathy in me.
Now I wonder what we are filling the space among our thoughts with. I guess mine has been filled in part with shopping lists.