Preface

The Posthumous Journal of Malori Aslan Smith

January 7, 2002

I write this in hopes that someday it will actually mean something. Hopefully, because I accomplish something great in my life. After the death of every great human being, their journals and personal belongings are worth so much more than when they were alive. Or more than anything or anyone else for that matter.

But even if I never become famous or do anything great, I would hope that someone would find an interest in my life. Maybe learn from my mistakes. Grow from my successes. Relate to my weaknesses and failures. I believe that all people go through the same challenges, the same gamut of emotions. Only nobody takes the time to be honest and to relate to each other, to learn from each other. I hope to change at least one life by simply living my own. Preaching by example, teaching without words.

Someday, I’ll will my journals, including this one, to someone I hold dear. My first choice would be my parents, but I hope to outlive them. My next choice would be my loving husband, which I hope to someday find. If circumstances don’t allow, then I’ll leave it to my best friend. If I have no friends, I’ll leave them to a publishing company, who I would hope find it interesting. The journal of a 17-year old girl, average, nothing special. But somehow different, simply because people can relate to her. Because she took the time to write about life.