Diary of a 9-year-old

As I might have already mentioned earlier, I had a diary when I was nine years old. I have had this diary up till when I was eleven. I started writing in it on the 31st of August 2008, the last day of the summer holidays. Surprisingly it was very formal. How do I explain this? Nowadays, I also keep different notebooks (kind of like diaries), but they are full of doodles and little notes I can't read because my handwriting is messy. My diary from 2008, on the other hand, is very neat and is written more like a formal letter. Another thing is that when I started writing the diary I had no idea of what diaries are like so there was nothing like "Dear Diary," at the beginning of each page. The way I started writing was also very... Hmmm... Strangely formal. I literally just wrote
Good evening! My name is Sonya and I am nine years old. Tomorrow is the first of September and I am going to Grade 4. 
It became less formal after a year or so, but, compared to my doodles now, the drawings in my old diary are very neat. Many things I wrote do not make sense due to poor grammar and punctuation skills. I did my best and tried to translate everything I wrote word to word. Sorry if something does not make sense to you because it does not make any sense to me either.
Let's take a look at it, shall we?

So this is how it looks like from the outside

This is something I wrote on the 1st of September 2008. It was my first day in 4th Grade. Before the lessons started we celebrated the start of a new school year with a dancing show and I was one of the performers. Another thing to keep in mind that I was going to leave to Switzerland in August and not come back to my old school, but, unfortunately, our visa was not ready yet so I had to go back. 

The celebrations were over. Everyone went to class. Those who danced stayed in the auditorium. And I went to see my classmates. I came up to class 4A where in the previous years I was the best student. Everyone lined up to go to music class. I looked at my class with happy eyes. They responded with bitter looks. Dasha S was the first one to speak, “Really, really wanted to leave, but didn’t?”

She said to me with her disgusting voice. And after the other Miss Intelligence decided to speak, “You’re staying! Oh no!!!”

Wow! Those kids were really mean to me! Surprisingly, back then, I didn't fully understand that they were bullying me so I did not take it into account and was nice and friendly to them. Here's another diary entry from the same week:

After drama class and homework the only ones left were me, Rita, Dasha S and Olya Z. They started filming with their phones. And me and Margarita watched them.

Dasha has always wanted to be better than me. And that’s why she hated me. To get the title “best” she did weird things. Dasha danced like a stripper (although I don’t know how they dance but I think that they dance like her). But today she went over her limits.

Olya was saying, “This is our Dasha” Dasha roared and lifted up her shirt. Olya continued, “This is her belly and here her fly is open.”

Dasha took off her panties showing everyone her “treasures”. The girls looked at it and decided that they are at a disco party.

Olya took the phone, “We are at the disco! This is Dasha. She’s the coolest one here today.”

Dasha decided to show that she really is the “coolest one”. She took of her trousers and pants and showed herself from all the sides. Then she came up to everyone (including me and Rita) and showed everyone her butt. 

Ummm.... Very interesting, this one, isn't it? I went to one messed up school. Here is another proof of how strange my classmates were:

So I sat at my desk in a bad mood. And I took out my old paints from last year. Dasha came up to me and said, “Wow! Don’t you have any money?”

I already had a situation like this before. When Olya B didn’t stay after school I was only with Rita. Rita was telling us, “I’m friends with my schoolbag since 1^st grade!”

“Me too,” I added.

Then Dasha interrupted, “I know why Sonya doesn’t have a new schoolbag!” she exclaimed so that the whole class could hear it. “She doesn’t have any money!”

Nine-year-old girl talking about money. Impressive! That Dasha girl... What was with her? When I came back to visit my old school during the winter break this is what I wrote:

Then Dasha S came inside the classroom. She raised her eyes and said, “Oh Sonechka I’m so happy to see you, we missed you so much!”

Unfortunately I didn't write much during my first few days in Switzerland. That would have been very interesting. At the end of the school year I wrote this big "speech" about what I have learnt:

That’s it, the school year has ended. We learned so much during this time. I’m not talking about adding and subtracting fractions, no… We learned about friendship, dedication, sympathy and happiness for others. In comparison to Moscow this is paradise. I learned how to sincerely feel happiness and care for others; feel the others’ problems. That’s it… The year has ended, but I will never forget it, even though it was a very hard year.

What use of language! What emotion! 

During the summer of 2009 I went to a summer camp with my friend Katja. This is what I wrote:

Wooof! This is annoying me so much! All the girls here are getting ready for the talent show. Their stupid music is everywhere. Now I’m in another room, but I can still hear the sound of it.

All the Russians here talk only using swear words. Sasha is the only normal one here and she respects our friends.

 Russians swearing? This sounds familiar!

It’s very boring around here. All the girls talk only about love. They sit in a room upstairs, gossiping… Beating each other up… Crying… Mad-house! The counselours are gone. Someone wanted to jump out of the window. Now she’s crying again. Beating everyone.

The boys also talk about girls. They call them to ask them out on dates.

The talent show is soon. The girls are dancing something like strip-tease, shaking their butts. I think that we’re the only normal ones here.

Above the skilfully drawn keyhole it says "a dark place for kisses"

Please tell me, what is this supposed to mean?

I will… Ummm… Now I no longer have to dissemble. So me and T (I hate her and she loves me) are sitting together. 

Sounds so dramatic, doesn't it? I really didn't want to put the girl's name since I don't want her to feel bad. I can't believe I wrote that about her. She's quite a good friend of mine.

Speaking of dramatic, there are quite a lot of things I wrote about me listening to music, crying, talking about the past (I haven't changed). Here's something I wrote about a nightmare I had:

I feel bad.

I had a dream that my dad dies. And a huge, yellow, angry dog was chasing me.

If this dream is really true then…

I’m crying…

I need the help of God…

What? What's this "help of God" I speak of? What? Just.... What???

This is something quite funny I wrote back in 5th Grade. Katja and I gave nicknames to all of our teacher (I haven't changed at all) so we called one of them Beefsteak. How nice of us!

And yesterday…

“Blood puddle”. Of my blood!

I was doing tricks on the playground and BAM… Blood all over my nose. I’m in shock… Katja and I ran up to the first teacher in sight – Beefsteak! She said, “Come with me!”

It’s good that she… Ummm… She treated me well, but I wanted to run away from her. She talked to me like a real R.B. teacher. She had such a Scottish accent that it was just…. HORRIBLE!!!

I wanted to run away from Beefsteak. And she followed me everywhere. Even the toilets… Yes… Everywhere…

Then she met Mrs V and I stood there. I think “Freedom!”

But it was no freedom. Beefsteak found me!

I think that she needs to have a child. She would be a good mother…

Did I really hate the Scottish accent that much? I was one weird kid, wasn't I? Speaking of being weird, here's something else that proves that I was a strange one:

I’m in such a mysterious mood today… Ooooahhhhh…. Ah-ha-ha… Yo-ho-ho… Kish-mish… Wow! What’s that kish-mish thing? Hahaha! 

Funny thing is that if you look quite closely it says that I gave the diary to my Grandma to read and that she said that I have awful handwriting. On that page I'm trying to prove that I have nice handwriting and saying that Grandma was wrong. Oh the irony...