Even my bloglife is a series of hellos and goodbyes. A blogger who used to figure prominently in my resolve to improve my writing skill some two years ago just decided he’s retiring from his regular postings on WordPress. It took me several months to click open his blog again. Things have changed. But I felt I had to Like his final entry. That much I owed him, in spite of everything.
Recently, I’ve started reading a woman blogger who writes with metaphorical flourish. She reminded me of one or two other female bloggers who uses figure of speech in their writing. The thing is, after reading what this woman had to say, I always ended up thinking, “What a wacko.” Not to mention her belligerence seems to be up in the air all the time. Other than assessing her writing style, there’s nothing much to gain from her blog. And I’ve neither time nor interest to spar with someone like her.
Look, we blog citizens here are under no obligation to anyone. I pretty much don’t get why bloggers, especially the petty women, get up in arms when you do not comment or click Follow as a corollary to visiting their sites. Accuse us of stalking, lurking, whatever. Aren’t we all in this realm? (She previously admitted to being one herself.) There’ll be no consignment on my part, FYI. Unlike most, I’m not here for powerblogging, nor to make money, nor to seek anyone’s approval, nor to merely get attention. If she doesn’t like sharing her blog to others, without strings attached, why not simply take it down? (Just like what I do once in a while whenever privacy weighs more to my sense of well-being.)
It’s much like commitment — which I found out doesn’t work for me here. I need my freedom.
This is why I’m sticking with categorically following blogs of the opposite gender (using only Google bookmark). It’s breezier to have them around.
To commemorate my four years of reading and writing through the comfort of this site, I’ve come up with some word play as a writing exercise. My blog serves as my memoir and journal. Although there’s always considerable discomfort in exposing the contents of my heart and mind, I’m in for the long run.
Serving as my personal time warp — in a transition that never seems to end.
Stuck in a world of crude expressions, colored insights, opinions on the run.
I, however, am trapped in the rapture of words forever.
Still thoughts seeming fresh and fair,
Like the specter in the concrete
the sunshine with the rainbow.
Even when hopes proved false …
From the faint white line
promising of no wit nor eloquence
I’m returning to the land of unstructured narratives,
where messages are misread
manifesting little shame in my emotional constitution.
And a placid existence that tries to reject despair.
So I will write by the candor and strength of my discontent,
with a gush of fantasy here and there.
Sustaining what’s left through the perpetuity of words,
I’m here for the long run.