It was my son who set up this blog – this blog which would constitute the testaments of my being, both present and bygone. It was my hope my son would read its contents down the road so he’d come to know better the woman who had raised him, warts and all. Now that a fresh horizon has spread wide before him, it seems neither time nor interest on his part is going to allow that to happen. Thus, the stardusts from this side of my heaven are all mine to catch. This blog could only serve me — I might as well run wild and free in it. It’s a never-ending pleasure marshaling my thoughts, my feelings, my history, and seeing them crafted in words thereafter.
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I am not your typical blogger. For more than a month late last year, this blog went underground because I kept hopping over to a popular site to comment regularly for fun. Yet I felt uncomfortable for the attention my blog might attract – from just anyone. Yes my favorite bloggers’ stories and perspectives thrill me; belonging to a community, however, is another thing — I came to realize ages ago — as it hinders my aim for freedom of expression here.
What’s the difference between you and me? Chances are, I know you more than you know me. The touchstone for my commentaries I made in your site could be a lot sounder — because I did read the huge mound of stuff you had earlier sent off to the ether.
One or two of my most recent commenters, neither of whom had even bothered to read my pieces, tried to cut me down by shoving me into a category they seem to look down on. There was sudden movement on my Stats (around six hits from probably different viewers) for one day. I will never know what else they could have said against me on their blogs. It’s something I have no plan to dwell on.
I stand by my every conviction — now and forever. I have held out these views even before I had chanced upon any of your blogs. It’s never been about anyone in this blogosphere. It’s no secret and no shame on my part admitting the things I write circle around me.
And neither your raves nor sympathy has ever been obliged. That had been made clear by me repeatedly. In as much as no smokescreen will be necessary — I have long grown tired of the people who can’t accept me for who I am, for what I am.
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I am no angel. For all I know, I may still be paying for my sins of yesteryears. Life could, furthermore, be penalizing me for feeling deeply.
I have less and less to lose as time goes by. The two most important people in my life have already slipped away. But I choose to keep staring at my fears and griefs in the eye, sans the succor of precarious diversions or any substance that only offers ephemeral ease. In the same strand I’ve no intention of losing my grip on the remaining good branches left. That’s how I deal with my personal storms. That’s how I value my life and myself.
The zero hour will soon find me and pummel me to the ground. Until then I remain as the kind I’ve always been known for.
As one of the last men standing.
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I am for aye a fervid fan of Burt Bacharach’s beautiful melodies. One of my favorites, April Fools, makes me muse over my affection for writing and this blog. This blog which I had considered giving up in many a recent time — but that the sentimental fool in me just wouldn’t let go.
It’s a song that begins with the words “In an April dream…
…little did we know, where the road would lead.
Here we are, a million miles away from the past, traveling so fast now…
No need to be afraid. True love has found us now.”
Bohemian Sentiments 
A simple notion got me: penalties for deep-feeling. It struck a chord, of course, a major one, one so familiar that saying I understand doesn’t seem the least bit presumptuous. So, I understand, and can certainly relate. That’s all I wanted to say. And also, as an aside, or perhaps an addition, hopefully welcome, that I find those feelings worth the price paid–the ongoing price paid–to feel them, because I am as empty without them as I am ill-fit for everyday ordinary living with them, so wonderfully, freely, fully ill-fit.
Excuse me for focusing so narrowly on a single little element of your post, and for commenting so long after the initial posting.
That you could relate to something I wrote here means a lot to me. Feeling deeply — yes, it’s both a blessing and a curse for me. You must have felt out of place, too, whenever circumstances demonstrate the reality most people around us do not share that quality we have.
No problem about delayed responses. Although it’s been a while since the last post over at your blog. I’ve wondered what’s been going on in your life.
Thank you so much for dropping by.