As I think of quite some years ago, I was remembering the year 1988. To me that year just happens to bring back a lot of nice memories. Of course there are so many though. But It was at this time when I began to write a diary for the first time.I remember sitting on my porch one morning, as I did everyday writing in my diary all about the events or happenings of the day before. I had just moved to a 2 floor home on Bathgate ave in the Bronx with my family.I thought the neighborhood was "cool". And it really was, it was home. So I wanted to keep a journal of everything that was going on every single day. Across the street were other houses and a unique individual caught my eye as he waved to me without knowing who I was. I say unique as after getting to know him he sure was. One of the most down to earth, nicest person I ever met. He was not afraid to be himself, to shake it to the rhythm of reggae music and walk down the block with his boombox radio on his shoulder. I haven't seen a single soul in years hit the streets with a boombox. I was able to catch up with him again in 1993 back on Bathgate ave and it was so exciting to see him, just as it was years before and reminiscing about the earlier times. A good friendship remained but unfortunately time and years went by and people move away and grow and continue their journey in life. I wrote so many pages and several diaries worth of my daily life. Sad to say that those diaries, with the moves, and through time, were some how lost , never to be found again.
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