I have arrived stupidly late at the conlusion that writing about your life actually makes it more tolerable. It builds the illusion that things actually make sense. Or that they are fun and interesting. Why else would people write journals and memoirs? Reading personal stories brings a sort of satisfaction and joy: when we remember the past, we make it seem like it made sense. It is a coherent, possibly well written story, not a confusing mess which leaves us numb or disoriented. Writing them should therefore bring double joy: you get to create your story and then read it and marvel at your own creation.
It can also be simply fun.
At least is seemed fun when I started thinking about it: “Little H’s Adventurous Feats After Leaving her Country and Everything and (Almost) Everyone She Hold Dear. or I decided to Start a New Life. What Could Possibly Go Wrong?”
Personal Belongings 