One particular thing I hate the most is filling up the “about me” section of any social networking sites. Talking about myself gives me the jitters and uneasiness like I’m about to be executed in front of everybody. I say this as most of the time, I am ignorant of who I am, what qualities I have , what skills I excel at, or what achievements I have attained unless people close to me are selfless enough to point these out right under my nose. Having said this, I will skip my boring story about myself and talk about why I decided to create this blog in the first place.
First and foremost, I love reading books, essays, fictions, blogs, gossips or whatever topic grabs my attention (I lied after all; I just stated something about myself. LOL). Reading has been my only escape from loneliness and boredom since moving halfway around the world six years ago from the place I originally call home. To read and be immersed in a different world a writer creates has the ability to cheer my dejected spirit and break away from the agony of homesickness torturing me now and then. Reading has the healing power of evasion, of contentment and bearing up, of not summoning unwanted memories which at times deter myself from attaining optimism before starting my day. However, despite my undying love for reading, it was vise versa for writing.
The love to read and to write at the same time usually goes hand in hand, but it was the opposite for me. I used to hate writing so much and wouldn’t even dare write unless it was a paper required to be handed in to my instructors. The funny thing is it did get to the point of needing someone to point a gun at me before I could force myself to pick up a pen and inscribe its ink on a piece of paper. And often times, this sheet of paper mirrored lengthy, erratic scribbles of jumbled thoughts packed and mixed together I myself or anyone could never fathom. You know that feeling of having to read a ridiculously difficult, eloquent poem in your lit class and you’re trying to understand what the writer wants to convey but end up having a headache instead, that’s exactly how I viewed the pieces I had written for the most part. Too many words and ideas joined together that throwing away the end product in my recycle bin was my only option to avoid having the most awful migraine of my life.
It was a cycle of typing and deleting until that one particular day when I felt like I was literally carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders for the first time, and I was unconsciously searching for anything to help lessen the burden. And like an angel sent from heaven, writing started beckoning me to type whatever tirade I could think of on my laptop to help contain and alleviate my tumultuous emotions. Before I knew it, I was hooked with its healing powers and its ability to never judge or criticize what came out of my mouth. This finally led me to the decision of creating my account on WordPress.com where I can rant and orate whatever is in my mind as well as even sermonize myself with words of encouragement when I’m feeling like I’m about to lose my sanity. So without further ado, this blog was born.
Like reading, writing to me nowadays is escapism, a therapeutic outlet, a mirror of thoughts, a welcoming home with no barricades or limits as well as a place filled with empathy and liberation. I certainly do get the feeling of “what the heck am I saying?” every now and then which is probably common to every blogger out there, but this won’t deter me from writing whatever inspires me be it the most boring topic like my neighbor mowing his lawn or my toenails which I plan to paint with the color red.
P.S. Now that I think about it, I’ve never once painted my toenails bright red. Maybe I should try one of these days. 🙂