Just The Type 2 Have 1
So how do you start your own blog?
That thought occurred to me today after an old colleague asked me if I had one. It felt weird saying no. I didn’t have a blog. Heck, why should I care? But then the bombshell dropped. I was told I seemed just the type to have one. Awww…
Growing up as a single child in Manila, I had nothing really interesting to tinker with save for a (then-new) Brother™ typewriter. So it wasn’t surprising when I evolved into a junior novelist and poet (with a GRAND total of one published work). Ink ribbons became a must-buy, along with candies and those popular Coca-Cola™ yoyos. In college, I wrote opinion pieces enroute to a plum editorial post. Writing has always been fun for me; it’s in my blood. Of course, that didn’t mean I’m the best of letterers, or the most imaginative of explorers. But I never backed down from a literary challenge, and to this day I enjoy hammering out silly short stories on my trusty PC despite the lack of appreciative audiences.
And now, the web journal.
As the sounds of tip-tap-tapping fill my room again, I realize how much I’ve missed by giving up the pen. And just as I summon my literary faculties from oblivion, I start to miss a host of other things: the late-night-bordering-into-super-early-IM-pings about nothing really, I don’t wait for them anymore but they still seem to occupy most of my thoughts while online. There’s a lot of stuff I’m missing that were, weirdly enough, never mine in the first place. Perhaps if I keep them within me long enough, they would cease to exist. I mean what's the point of missing it if it’s all in your head?
At times I try to close my eyes and remind myself of the numerous imponderabilities of this world… only to see the bubble burst over the rainbow. With it comes hopelessness, so I close my eyes again and get lost in my illusions, willing my subconscious to reconstruct the bubble I was living in and wishing all of my dreams come true and for the characters in it to be true.
Mornings are the worst. Mornings make me miserable. They snatch you from the cradle of your magnificent multiverses, exposing them as mere fantasies of a deluded optimist. Mornings make me wish the light away. And so I sleep and sleep and sleep until my dreams turn into nightmare… it leaves you breathless and crying and fighting just to simply wake up.
I miss a lot. And I’m going to blog about it.
That thought occurred to me today after an old colleague asked me if I had one. It felt weird saying no. I didn’t have a blog. Heck, why should I care? But then the bombshell dropped. I was told I seemed just the type to have one. Awww…
Growing up as a single child in Manila, I had nothing really interesting to tinker with save for a (then-new) Brother™ typewriter. So it wasn’t surprising when I evolved into a junior novelist and poet (with a GRAND total of one published work). Ink ribbons became a must-buy, along with candies and those popular Coca-Cola™ yoyos. In college, I wrote opinion pieces enroute to a plum editorial post. Writing has always been fun for me; it’s in my blood. Of course, that didn’t mean I’m the best of letterers, or the most imaginative of explorers. But I never backed down from a literary challenge, and to this day I enjoy hammering out silly short stories on my trusty PC despite the lack of appreciative audiences.
And now, the web journal.
As the sounds of tip-tap-tapping fill my room again, I realize how much I’ve missed by giving up the pen. And just as I summon my literary faculties from oblivion, I start to miss a host of other things: the late-night-bordering-into-super-early-IM-pings about nothing really, I don’t wait for them anymore but they still seem to occupy most of my thoughts while online. There’s a lot of stuff I’m missing that were, weirdly enough, never mine in the first place. Perhaps if I keep them within me long enough, they would cease to exist. I mean what's the point of missing it if it’s all in your head?
At times I try to close my eyes and remind myself of the numerous imponderabilities of this world… only to see the bubble burst over the rainbow. With it comes hopelessness, so I close my eyes again and get lost in my illusions, willing my subconscious to reconstruct the bubble I was living in and wishing all of my dreams come true and for the characters in it to be true.
Mornings are the worst. Mornings make me miserable. They snatch you from the cradle of your magnificent multiverses, exposing them as mere fantasies of a deluded optimist. Mornings make me wish the light away. And so I sleep and sleep and sleep until my dreams turn into nightmare… it leaves you breathless and crying and fighting just to simply wake up.
I miss a lot. And I’m going to blog about it.
posted by the nature boy at 8:02 PM
4 thought bubbles
