That I have no one else to really talk to in my physical realm is true. Stepping into this virtual world has always felt like a holiday – a respite from the grating realities of my earthly existence.
Here in my country, I’ve had difficulty finding people who are like me: highly enthusiastic about English and writing, deeply introspective, more of an iconoclast, and free from religious shackles. None of my family members or relatives share my pursuits. To boot, acquaintances and personal connections at work I have very little in common with – as my means of livelihood is totally unrelated to my passions in life. It’s on the internet, specifically the blogsphere, that I met people who were interesting to me.
In here, I occasionally seek refuge and a little warmth and the feeling of home. I don’t have the standard life of having a family around. I’m at this stage where I simply focus on the things that still sustain me and elevate my well-being.
The blogland is where I truly enjoy the privilege of running with stanzas and verses of my own whenever I want to– in spite of the fact coming up with the proper metaphor is an arduous undertaking. No doubt my strength is more on prose. Still, my poetic endeavours have been gratifying – because it’s somewhat new, something I haven’t given real attention to in the past. My pitiful lyrical attempts could also be traced back to my half a dozen skimpy silly lines several years back, as romantic verses have always been my preference when penning poetry. Besides, I’m a proponent of the writing tip that one should accord more precedence to feelings than words.
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People around me, including my own sister, have been puzzled as to how I could go on after my son left. In my mind, I am profoundly convinced I am my father’s daughter. In the sense he and I were constructed of sturdier stuff compared to most average beings. No, I take that back. My father had been the real McCoy. There were days I wouldn’t want to rise up from bed and I don’t believe I’m as industrious as he was. Even so, my vow is to keep putting my one foot in front of the other. Because I am still bent on finding out how far my trudging steps will take me – while appreciating everything good that’s been left.
Loneliness is something I don’t want to process much in my mundane condition anymore. I guess it has since become deep-rooted I can no longer tell whether I’m sad or not. Too many losses, griefs, and afflictions I’ve had to set aside to be able to go on living. I’m simply determined to make use of whatever’s left until everything ultimately slips away.
In the event I’d get hit by a bus while carrying on with my daily humdrum tasks, I’d be at peace knowing my words, no matter how struggling and unskillful they are, would have their resting place in here.
Bohemian Sentiments 