AFUA HIRSCH

I met the first boy I ever fancied when I was 12 on a family holiday in France; his name was Xavier. Unfortunately, he didn’t feel the same, so I went to the local supermarket and bought a brown chunky book that French kids used for their school agendas. I started writing about my unrequited love, beginning each entry with ‘Dear Xav…’ and on the first page, I made a vow to write in my diary every day. I’ve kept my word ever since.

Even today, I start each entry with ‘Dear Xav’, and I credit my diaries with giving me the gift of writing. The early ones are a tormented adolescent’s stream of consciousness. I was a melodramatic, selfobsessed teen who was always in love with someone and everything was always the end of the world. Eventually, I honed my written communicating skills, and I got better at storytelling the things I saw, experienced and felt each day.

When I put fountain pen to paper in my diary, I’m crafting something that has literary merit, even though I don’t want anyone to read it – including me. The hardest part of writing my book Brit(ish) was reading through my diaries, mainly because of the volume but also because it was difficult to face my younger self. I’ve changed a lot – although in some ways I haven’t – and I struggled to come to terms with that. I’m proud to record my life but I don’t want to relive those pages.

For me, the benefits come from writing in the present. Just like how confiding in someone you trust can make it feel as though a burden has been halved, writing to ‘Xav’ feels like a weight has been lifted. Best of all, I don’t have to worry about what Xav thinks of me. Growing up, I was often the only black girl in my environment, and I was conscious of feeling different and ‘othered’. I think that made me a person who thought about what others thought of me, maybe too much. My diary became a way of interacting with something without worrying what others thought.

Today, my diary-writing is more reflective social analysis. As a journalist, I’ll record the story behind a story. I’ll also write my thoughts about people’s relationships or my hopes for my daughter. My partner jokes it’s the greatest act of self-indulgence: ‘Who has time to actually sit and write about themselves every day?’ This ritual, which I do just before bed, helps me to clarify and rationalise. I’ve realised I’m good at thinking ‘in’ writing – although that can also be a curse because I can’t say what I really think until I’ve got it out in my diary. But I think that makes me appreciate the power of the written word even more. Afua’s book Brit(ish): On Race, Identity and Belonging is out now

“THE BENEFITS COME FROM WRITING IN the PRESENT – WRITING FEELS LIKE A WEIGHT has BEEN LIFTED ”