Change - Entry 1

August 20, 1913

Dearest diary, 

There’s something about autumn that weaves a hint dolefulness in the air. The days of seemingly  perpetual summer sun has come to a halt and the chilly winter nights are just around the corner. Change and autumn seem to go hand in hand, don’t they? Just when you think summer could last forever, flowers start wilting and maple leaves get blown from their trees. Summer’s beauty withers to make way for the snowy magic the winter months will bring.  

Every year that happens. Oh, I wish life were like that too! I wish I could know for sure that there was always another beautiful season after this one has passed. 

Oh, everything is changing, my dear Helena! (I have just decided to name you that. Isn’t that a darling name? Makes me think of the  forest nymphs Diana and I used to conjure up near the Dryad’s Bubble...) This time next week I’ll be on a train traveling a million miles away to Redmond College. That’s a million miles away from everything I know and a million miles towards a brand new everything. I know I’ll be back at Avonlea for Christmas vacation but I have a feeling Green Gables will never be the home to me it used to be. Dora will be taking my room when I’ve gone and she will be hanging new photographs on the carnation walls. It’s no longer truly my room anymore. 

On top of everything, my most darling Diana Barry will not be a Miss Barry for much longer. When she twists that silver band around her finger constantly and that little subconscious smile creeps upon her lips, I feel as if I shouldn’t be there at all! I wouldn’t wish her world were otherwise and I am in raptures about Diana’s approaching marriage to Fred Wright; of course I am. He is a most kindhearted man and I am not blind to Diana’s joy every time his name is brought up. Although, I cannot help but fancy that those schoolgirl fantasies about that brooding, handsome stranger were the man holding her heart instead of Fred: the boy who sat three desks from us in Arithmetic since the fifth grade. I’m  being awfully foolish, aren’t I? But I don’t mean to be, really! 

I simply just don’t know anymore, Helena. You know, when I was younger, I have always thought eighteen to be a ripe old age---and Diana did too; and so did Prissy and Jane and even Josie Pye! We were so sure we would accomplish life’s grand achievements before then because, after all, being eighteen was such a faraway time from being twelve. But now, I cannot for the life of me recall why I felt so sure about that. 

As I have learnt, twelve is just a blink away from eighteen. Redmond is waiting for me. When I get my B.A., I wonder where I will end up...I suppose there will be some bend in the road, there always is. I just hope that I’m ready for it. 

Anne

p.s. Alright, it is almost four o’clock in the morning now and my head is about to burst! I have held my thoughts for as long as someone in my position possibly could and I must tell somebody. I tried not to think about it, I truly tried but to no avail. I want to cry and I believe the ink on this page will soon run with tears. Good thing too, for I never want to think about this ever again. I don’t even know what I want to think about this afternoon’s scene! Why did he have to look at me like that, take my hand like that? Why can’t Gilbert just be sensible! I wish he will never act this way again. Yet...I suppose it isn’t very sensible that I could still feel the pressure on my hand...Ugh! This is much too embarrassing to even think about! Well, there you go, Helena. I have said what I can and now I won’t think about this ever again.