Writing a Journal in Code

I just found out one of my great-grandmothers wrote her diary in neither Yiddish nor in her adopted Spanish, as I would have supposed, but in Russian–that roving eyes not see and comprehend what was not theirs to see and comprehend.

Using a language inaccessible to most in her proximity, she could truly express her worries and sadnesses, joys and apprehensions.

That spoke to me.

For some reason, it reminded me of all those times I have–to a degree–lied to myself in a journal, not wishing to write something mean or cruel about a loved one I would later regret having committed to print.

I still maintained a sort of map-like key, knowing what certain things truly meant in context, while accepting that the passage of time would likely find me wishing I’d not written too plainly. Curiosity could so easily lead to offense, and hindsight, if not 20/20, grants past slights a petty mien.

It reminded me of all those times I’d made sure to write that I was happy if I felt so–that posterity or my future self not look back and deem me ungrateful.

That may actually be in opposition to what “Abuelita Rosa” did–maybe, maybe not–as using Russian freed her from sugar-coating her descriptions, but I related to the act of writing a journal in code.

And that made me feel greater kinship to a woman I’d never met but have always admired and from whom, after all, I can claim one-eighth.

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Photo by Gloria Stokol. San Sebastian, Spain, 2007.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, December 15th, 2009 at 11:51 am and is filed under Blog. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.