I browsed through my old and dusty books and saw 3 specially covered notebooks. They are my diaries written since I was about 11 til I was about 15. I have read them over and over and laughed and cried. They were supposed to be my secrets. A few years ago, I let my sister read them. She was actually hesitant at first but I didn't want us to keep secrets from each other. Maybe if she read my thoughts when I was in early adolescence, she'll get to understand why I am as crazy as she thinks I am now. Haha!
I found out that my mother arranged the books in the cabinet and they were not in the same place I kept them. I got nervous and thought maybe she already read them. I know I shouldn't feel any different and make it a big deal because she's my mother but I feel like some pieces of me were taken away. My parents have always respected our privacy. They don't open our cellphones and read our messages or view our pictures (I think) and I am grateful for that. Who knows? She has probably seen and known all of my supposed secrets, but something in me still longs for privacy. I guess I am just getting old.