In high school, I had to write an excuse letter every time I missed class. And since  B told me I have been slacking around on my writing I felt an obligation to write an excuse letter. I have to say it’s true and yet it’s also false. True because I haven’t posted anything for more than four months. False because I have been writing. Except not on my blog. Allow me to explain further....

I’ve never really been proud of my writing. Unlike my older and younger sisters, I am not able to string words together eloquently and make it seem like the wittiest thing one have read so far. But as far as I can recall I had always had a journal. You know, that hard bound type with paper and you use a writing device on it. In it I bared myself and revealed my worst fears, my deep seated insecurities, my silent tears and unquenchable pain. I wrote of giddy moments, difficult times, sad tales and joyful occasions. And because I used paper I was able to write, paint, draw or compose my thoughts in prose or poem as well as discuss the most serious to the most mundane topic. It was ultimate D time and I was not afraid of being judged or criticized or even offending anyone. There is no pressure to write something because I know when I am ready and when I really need it my journal is just in between the mattress I can pull out anytime and open up to begin a new entry.

Eventually that journal became digitalized and I started blogging some time ago. I remembered the excitement I felt understanding the script that will help me personalize my blog and I thought how convenient it is that I am able to write anytime I feel like writing without having to bring a pen and my journal. Like before I used to write only for myself but eventually other people started reading my blog. And even though I kept the “no need to impress” attitude, some part of me still felt an obligation to not be a waste of space and write content worth reading. Not long after I decided to stop blogging as the intrusion to my privacy became too much. I always thought that what I write is none of anyone’s business anyway.

Why I started blogging again is still an enigma for me. Perhaps after years of suppressing my thoughts my minded wanted some release. Perhaps I got tired of talking about my ideas. Or perhaps I was just bored. Whatever the reason that wariness over my privacy’s intrusion has never really left me. And each time someone asks me “why did you write that?” I beat down the urge to snap at that person “why do you care to know?” But I have accepted the reality that since I put it out there for everyone to see, I have a moral obligation to be responsible with my words and actions. My Momi always told me to tone it down a little. And that’s what I have been doing on my blogging. Pathetic, if you ask me. But I’d rather be a wuss online than be too catty and make everyone bleed with my sharp words.

So that’s my story and I’m sticking to it. I write but don’t post em all. I’ve learned from my past that there are some things in life I need not share because the truth is some things are just not meant to be known.