Why I Still Blog

Because of my other (happier) blog, I've been visiting this personal journal less and less frequently.

Until today, I didn't realize that it's been over a month since I last put my thoughts into writing. Perhaps it's partly the reason why I've been feeling antsy lately and have had a few weird ideas (I wanted to try pottery making, for Pete's sake).

I suddenly don't want to learn pottery. (photo from here)

Introspection isn't necessarily a bad thing but doing too much of it without a form of release is a vicious self-punishment. You think too much about things, you think about it later, you think about it again tomorrow, and before you know it, it's eaten you up and you're starting to pull your hair out one by one.

And this is why I still keep this blog (I still like my hair).  Here, I can spew out the contents of my brain and pick at it from the outside looking in, instead of wallowing in my own thoughts by myself. This exercise keeps me grounded and (almost) sane. Which leads me to the topic that pressed me to want to spill out my guts once again.
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I'm like a goldfish. I got distracted after writing that block of text (in between work) and my earlier string of thoughts is good as gone. So instead of continuing that subject in this post, I'll end this emo post right here and have a whole new post for that other subject.

Realization

Last night, I woke up in the middle of sleep wheezing heavily. Each breath that I took in was laborious and required every ounce of effort I had left in me. Sleep abandoned me as I lay there huffing and puffing the night away.

In the quiet of the night, I listened to my lungs clunk like an old engine being forced to start and sputter. The lack of oxygen in my brain made it even more muddled than usual. Silly thoughts were running (tumbling, more like) in my head and I was wondering what would happen in the morning if my lungs decided to collapse right then.

There wouldn't be any chance to say goodbye to everyone I want to say goodbye to. I guess I can do that in the afterlife, if there's such a thing. I thought about my stuff, what would happen to them. And then I thought about my life and what I've done with it; and I realize that there's not much to miss.

My breathing slowly returned to near normal after I took medicine, tiredness eventually took over and I drifted to a restless slumber.

Back in The Day

Strange. It feels like I've forgotten to write from the heart. These days, I write with an audience in mind. I write thinking what their reaction would be, thinking about what they'd think about me and about what I wrote.

Because of this, I tend to avoid topics from the deep recesses of my being. Now, I steer clear of issues too emotional, ideas too controversial, and matters too personal. Why? For fear of rejection, for fear of confrontation, for fear of the truth.

It was only a few years ago when blogging only meant putting into words the things you find difficult to voice out in real life without trying to be funny, without trying to increase site traffic, without trying to gain any profit. Blogging was merely a pastime, not a profession. The internet community was much simpler then, with less walls, less barriers.

Back then, everyone wrote from the heart. People blogged about what they really thought, what they felt. Most everyone blogged about the things that mattered most to them, instead of what they think would matter to their readers.

I want those days back.