I am a confluence of the serious and the frivolous; of dark and light. Mostly, the blogosphere is the place where I hop into whenever I need to escape from the abyss of grief or try brook the snags of an isolated mind. The blogosphere is also where I can assert my privilege to simply be just me…and if I try hard enough, to fashion myself to become better in certain ways. It has served as my salvation.
In a word, I’m pathetic.
Let me go on, however, in an effort to make this post publishable.
We’ve all become aware of the unfortunate upshot of social media and blogging: Narcissism and Solipsism. In many spectral flavors. My American FB acquaintance was right on the money when he alleged how our attention-hungry selves consistently send the signal: Look at me! Look at me! No no, I said…LOOOK at MEEE!
But there’s also this paradox hovering around as to why a number of bloggers turn tail and flee in the wake of their hitting fame. Is privacy subconsciously a lot precious than stardom? What really is their problem? And, is it mere coincidence that they stop blogging the moment they got MY attention?
Well, for me, that at least one soul would be willing to flick through my stuff is enough. Because the hassle of handling a community of (flippant) readers? Pretty overwhelming. Something I’m sure I won’t be able to handle; regardless that I don’t have a life outside my daft routine and two underpaid jobs.
There’s no denying the pleasure I gain in the practice of writing. I like shaping my thoughts and true tales onto a page–even though my blog gets peppered with shameless accounts of my existence, ho-hum insights regarding whatever, contemplation about spiritual bankruptcy, and my highly pitiful attempts at romantic poetry.
Blog writers who put out excellent prose and poetry with matching snapshots amaze me. I wish I were capable of doing what they could — but I guess time and energy keep dodging me. I’ve cogitated, too, on penning articles that address some of my best-loved themes–like Astronomy, Secular Humanism, The Anatomy of Modern Literature, Animal Rights, and World-Class Techniques on Stripteasing (just kidding). Yet the fact others seem to explore them more articulately and with clear-cut competence halt me.
A horrifying realization is the actuality that my co-bloggers have gradually gotten the drift just how much of a loser I am. But hey, you’d better go easy on me because, if truth be told, we’re all kind of losers here…. (please refrain from hitting me with that thing you’re holding). And, indeed, sociopathy in various degrees lurks beneath most of us.
The downside for someone with my status who tells it all here is being misunderstood by a few narrow-minded co-bloggers–especially by the unseasoned young ones. Aren’t they aware that in my country, the lives of famous celebrities are an open book? Whereas those big-time personalities sell their stories for a fat price to magazines — mine is Free. Gratis. Pro bono. On the House. So why, why aren’t you all even thankful?
Back to a serious note, valid affirmations (which I Liked) from a recent Freshly Pressed blog post couldn’t have expressed things better about the writer in every one of us: There will always be words, sentences to alter. We write and write. We write to search ourselves, to record ourselves, to rescue ourselves. Always, writing is a reaching towards something more precise, a rearranging of words to understand something more clearly; to make something solid after having delved deeper. After all, we feel solitary–because we are essentially…alone. That’s why we relentlessly turn to face a blank page.
Image below illustrates it so well.
Reading and Writing is what I plan to be doing until my vision runs out and pure white hair starts sticking out in my armpit. So much the better if it could be done with ease and dexterity (the writing, I mean). Now you know why I need to course through your sites: You are all deft and a whole lot better than me as a blogger. You all illuminate my psyche with your experience and sophisticated perspectives. You all inspire me with everything that you are.
But most cogently, you all remind me that I simply have nothing better to do.