I'm a late bloomer by the standards of most bloggers. I've had a number of posts in my Friendster blog and so while I try to find my rhythm in launching an all-out Multiply blog page major decorating attack, let my first entry be something I merely copied and pasted from my Friendster site.
You will have to give me time.
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A friend of mine called out to me today, "Far, you haven't written anything in your blog lately, 'no?"
I mumbled about how busy I was with work, Christmas parties left and right, badminton, and a new presence in my life, also known as a boy named Chico.
Then he remarked: "Or basin dili lang ka emotional karon."
So I've earned the reputation of being a virtual cry-baby in my blogs. Sweet. But I've only myself to blame, really. Beats me why I am lately unable to write anything impersonal, like on current events issues, or some celebrity. I can write a review about the latest obscure DVD movie I've unearthed, or try to convince everyone how listening to Vanness Wu's Mandarin-language CD can be surprisingly pleasurable. But no, if writing a blog entry doesn't require wringing my heart and hanging it to dry, it simply doesn't cut it. And why should I be ashamed? I've got a large core audience all waiting eagerly for the next mush-fest sequel heheh.
I haven't written anything in nearly 3 weeks. By other people's standards, this is still fairly being prolific, so I don't know what the fuss is all about. And this is exactly why I didn't pursue a career in journalism (rendering my Mass Comm degree a total waste of time): I hate deadlines.
Anyway, I thought about his remark and I had to agree. Most of the schmaltz in here were written when I was either high-strung, embarrassed, depressed, deprived, desperate, triumphant, vulnerable, regretful or in love.
But I am a lot of all that right now. I am fearful. I am proud and defiant. I ache longingly for something I have lost. I kneel in sweet surrender to love. I feel beautiful. I feel inadequate. I feel alive.
And this must be what it's like to be very human. To be constantly assaulted by a gamut of feelings, whether you are prepared for them or not. To freely decide, whether to bravely ride out the most menacing waves of emotions or to drown helplessly in its surf.
Fertile ground which a thousand blog entries should spew from, don't you think? But if none of my reflections about each sentimental joyride goes to print, no matter. Maybe right now they are for my beating heart to savor, mine alone, if only for a while.
I am a melting pot of melodrama. Every single day. I know I've resolved to SHOUT it. But right now, I just simply cannot find my voice.
