10/12/2005
Last night I'm strumming my guitar and I start to reflect on my day. It's a little promise I made to myself some time ago, to reflect, to ponder - what is and what was. Strange I know, but it helps me put things in perspective. Anyway, I'm sitting there thinking about the blogs I read that day. It's kind of strange this 'blogosphere' thing. There are all these people connected without ever laying eyes on each other. They interest me, these bloggers. I read their words and somehow I see a reflection rather than a revelation. Bits and pieces of their lives mock my own existence. I remember, I laugh, I contemplate...and I feel I know them. I think that thought in itself is strange because so many times in my life I've been reminded how little we really no anyone. Maybe it's because when we're faced with the physical presence of someone we immediately put on our 'pretend' masks in order to live up to who we think we are supposed to be. In blogosphere we can be whomever we want and most times we find it easiest to just be ourselves. The self that can talk about the pain of losing someone or the joy of falling in love. We can tell our readers how much we want to be loved or how being loved can be the scariest thing in the world. We complain and we vent, we laugh and sometimes we even cry, but every emotion we feel is ours completely and without regret. We can be the types of friends that everyone needs, the type that listens and offers advice but never scolds you when you don't take it. We can admit our wrongs and gloat on our triumphs. We can be real. When we log off our computer, we can go home or go to bed or walk down the street and feel - like someone out there cares about you for all the right reasons, because they saw a side of you and kept on reading. Sure you could pretend to be someone else, but eventually you would fail to keep an audience because we all know how incredibly difficult it is to be something you're not. In blogosphere we are what we are, people, with hopes and dreams and fears and insignificant bits of ourselves that may seem, well...insignificant. This place we come to visit, it's a place I look forward to coming every day; a concept rare in itself. So I'll write my life on these pages and I'll read your life on yours, and I'll be grateful that I got to know you.
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What I find fascinating is that we write in a way that leaves us exposed, warts and all (metaphoric warts, I hasten to add. No spungiform and no warts on me!) And it's just accepted, perhaps because it's also recognised as something we see when we look in the mirror ourselves.
My Ma once said that she liked writing letters more than actually conversing with someone -- because it meant that someone had to read the letter --sort of the "you listen, I'll talk" with no interruptions, facial expressions or input to change your position in the middle of a conversation. Blogging's sorta like that for me. Alone? I'm never alone as long as I have "all you all"... and yeah, I do feel blessed :)