"Some doors don't need keys. Just courage."
Dear Diary,
There's a hallway in my house I've walked through a thousand times.
It leads from my bedroom to the staircase — five steps past the window, three creaks in the floor, one shadow that always flickers near the coat rack.
But today… there was a door.
A door I swear wasn't there yesterday.
It was pale blue with tiny carvings of stars on the edges. The doorknob was made of something like glass — no dust, no scratches, just cold and smooth and waiting.
I didn't scream. I didn't call for help.
I just… opened it.
And stepped inside.
The room was bigger than it should've been — like it bent time to make space.
There were floating shelves filled with old notebooks that looked oddly familiar.
Drawings on the wall — things I'd drawn and thrown away years ago.
A snow globe I lost in Primary 4.
My first storybook.
Even the socks I cried into the night I thought I'd ruined everything.
It was a museum of my forgotten self.
I stood in the center, heart racing like a drum in a cave.
On a desk near the corner, there was a lamp flickering like a heartbeat. Beside it, a stack of letters with my name written in a handwriting I didn't recognize… until I realized:
It was mine.
My handwriting — but softer, braver. More certain.
The letters were from different versions of me.
— One from five-year-old me, saying, "Thank you for not forgetting how to pretend."
— One from future-me, promising, "You'll be okay. You'll be more than okay."
— One from the version of me that once wanted to disappear, simply saying, "I'm still here."
I sat on the wooden floor.
And cried.
Not from sadness, but from the overwhelming feeling of being known.
By myself.
In the farthest corner of the room stood a mirror — tall, antique, silver around the edges.
I walked toward it.
But when I looked in, I didn't just see me.
I saw all of me.
The laughing girl. The anxious girl. The confident dreamer. The silent feeler. The midnight crier. The one who writes poetry in math class. The one who holds pain gently. The one who still believes in magic.
We all stared back at each other.
And for once…
No part of me looked wrong.
When I turned to leave, I noticed the door had no handle on the inside.
But I wasn't afraid.
Because I knew:
This room will always find me when I forget who I am.
Even if I can't find it again tomorrow,
it lives inside me now.
Like a compass.
Like a secret.
Like a quiet, holy place no one can steal.
Till tomorrow,
Wunor 🪞🗝️