I wear a face full of confusion. I flipp through the book over and over again. Was I missing any pages? I probably wasn't. Writing in this journal must have been rare for me, seeing as how there were only seven pages. And such big gaps between each date on the pages.
My face isn't only twisted with confusion. Sorrow and regret are drawn all over, as well. I don't want to come off as mean or harsh or self-absorbed, but that's exactly how I sound in here. I look back to my first page and wince at my word choice. Freaking. Damn. Was I really that mean back then? I don't remember any of it. Other than a few good memories with Sunburst and some embarassing moments with Dad, I can't remember much about my past. Not even reading this diary brings back memories. Those memories were lost a while back, hidden away somewhere. And maybe even, at some point, erased.
I feel tears well up in my eyes. And I mean feel. I can feel the moisture, and the heaviness pushing down on my eyes as I try to hold the teardrops in. But it's nothing compared to the heaviness in my chest. I was cruel as a kid, even more cruel as I grew up. There's no denying it; this journal has the proof.
One thing I have realized, though, is that I love friendships. No matter how much I refused to admit it, I still loved friends. It softened my heart and made me happy. On the pages that talk about my friendship with Sunburst, I wasn't using mean words. And when he left, I was in a terrible state. Back then, I never wanted to admit it, but I needed friends. They were my lifeline. Just look what I did without them!
I smiled a shaky smile knowing that I wasn't a complete loss. I was mean, but I had a soft spot for sure. I lie back down on the bed I was sitting on, hugging the book and closing my eyes. I hear another knock on my door and turn over in my bed to see Sunburst. He says something. He's asking me something. "Do you want to come celebrate with us?"
It's confirmed: I can hear again.
I eye my cold, uneaten breakfast, then my gaze shifts to the dusty book in my hooves. I nod and open my mouth to say something. It comes out very shakily, but it's clear enough. "I'll catch up with you."
He grins and nods, closing the door. I hear him walk away and I look back at my diary. I grab a quill, dip it in ink, and turn to page eight in the chronicle. I have one last thing to say. There's space for one more entry
December 25
Dear Diary,
This is older Starlight Glimmer. I'm no filly anymore. I've looked back at the other pages. And I can't deny it: I was mean. But not anymore. I want to change, and even if I haven't, I want to. I think that's good enough for me.
Twilight Sparkle helped me change my perspective in the world. I owe her my life.
Sunburst was my first friend. I owe him my kindness.
To all the friends who have helped me for the better, thank you. I am better now, and I want to make up for my past mistakes. I am better now.
Sincerely,
Starlight Glimmer, age 21
I smile and close the book. I hope that my log was enough to make up for my cruelty in the past. I hop off my bed in satisfaction. Now, now I can join Dad and Sunburst for Hearth's Warming Eve. I look back at the diary and turn back to page three. I was eager to make presents for them. I was kind back then, but I was mixed with rudeness. Wait, presents? Presents! I still need gifts for Dad and Sunburst!
I rip two pages from my diary and draw two pictures. A bird on each slip of paper. A phoenix. It represents immortality. It represents recurrence. A chance at redemption. That's what I got. My spirit is like a phoenix. I bite my lip, hoping the gifts will be enough. I take a deep breath and step outside my room. I'm ready to face the world now.
I feel a big jump and sit up. I hear a lot of noise outside. Where am I? I look down at the train car's bed and remember. I'm in a train, heading back to Ponyville. I faced the world already, and I'm done. I lie back down but can't fall asleep. So I sit up again and look at the gifts Sunburst and Dad got me. A book of Starswirl's most known complex spells. A kite that matches my cutie mark. They're great compared to my lame drawings. And, they're similar to the presents I got for my birthday when I was a little filly.
I remember the diary back at Sire's Hollow. Wait, no. I brought it on the train with me. I take it out and clutch it, staring at the snow outside my window. It's falling, slowly and softly. Just like my spirits. This trip wasn't a total bust, but I still don't feel great. I'll get better later, though. I sure hope I'll be fine.
I have good friends, good family. I don't want to hurt them. But is just that thought enough?