April 12th, Friday Sunny
The English diary notebook Mom gave me last semester is almost full. Flipping through it from the first page, I can’t help but laugh. The earliest entries were so short and full of simple sentences like “Today is Monday. I have math class. It is difficult.” The handwriting was big and awkward, each word carefully drawn like practicing penmanship.
As I turn the pages, the sentences grow longer. I started writing about the annoying pop quiz in Mr. Chen’s class, the basketball game where our class lost by just one point, and the first time I tried bubble tea after school with Lucy. I even pasted a dried maple leaf from the school garden last autumn beside that entry. The ink is a little *udged there, probably because I was in a hurry to catch the bus that day.
The middle section has more crossed-out words and corrections. That was when our English teacher, Ms. Li, started checking our diaries occasionally. She would circle my grammar mistakes in red pen but always write a little “Good!” or “Interesting!” at the bottom. I remember feeling nervous yet excited every time I handed it in. I began to use new words from the vocabulary list, like “frustrated” after failing a physics test or “exhausted but satisfied” after the sports meet.
The most recent entries feel different. Last week’s page is full of messy scribbles about choosing between science and arts tracks for senior year. I didn’t care much about grammar that night; I just needed to pour my confusion onto the paper. And yesterday’s entry is mostly about the silly argument with my best friend and how we made up over shared fries at the canteen. The sentences flow more naturally now, even if they’re not perfect.
This notebook is like a silent friend. It holds my bad handwriting, my spelling errors, my boring days, and my little secrets. It has seen my English grow from those stiff, textbook-like sentences to something that finally feels like my own voice. The pages are a bit wrinkled, the corners dog-eared, but every stain and crease marks a piece of my high school life.
I’ll need a new notebook soon. But this one, with its time-worn pages, will stay on my shelf. Maybe years later, when my English has become much better, I’ll open it again and *ile at this clumsy, sincere version of myself, forever captured in these simple lines.