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i bought my first journal when i was nineteen.
my father had just left for iran and given me
a few of his old diaries. i remember skimming
the farsi text and recognising his drawing style.
although i knew it held secrets. i’m not sure why i never
read it with any depth. it was more necessary to uncover
my own thoughts. as a child you experimented with
a variety of notebooks. often wasting them by drawing
on a few pages and throwing them away. on this
your fifteenth birthday i give you this journal
to document your journey in prose and verse and lyric
and drawing and dreams and wishes. i hope it lures
you to the edge of your passions and allows you
to explore the depths of your self and the world around you.
always remember there is no such thing as talent. there
is only practice and craft. spill yourself in these pages
and appreciate the pieces you will find.