MY VERY LAST LONG TEXT POST
I know I do long text posts most of the time, but this is different because this is longer than my usual ‘long’, and probably the longest. AND THIS IS THE LAST! BECAUSE, WELL, I’M LEAVING THIS ACCOUNT SOON.
(I wrote all this two weeks ago…)
A glass of cold water, then I’m good. I believed I was ready for bed. I prepared myself for this night of just typing – well, not really. I pushed on my phone to allow it to show me the time, so I could type in what time I started typing in and what time I would end. You know, the typical blogging setup. I don’t know, maybe it was just me. What was it for, by the way? To know how much time I actually spent on finishing a post? I could ask for more rhetorical hits but I couldn’t gather anything else anymore. To make it simple, let’s just not dwell on time. Just let me burst everything out, and let’s see how long we can arrive at this setting.
Honestly, I cannot think of the last time I vomited words into letters. Like, seriously, when was the last time I wrote something just for myself? Not for everybody else. And by everybody else I’m talking about the school requirements, and those blog posts included. On a more sincere note, I hate to confess that part of me when I create a new post was always conscious of how people who, I expect, constantly go through my blog would react, not to mention the hope I’m hooking on that eventually some more would stumble upon my writing and there, what am I even saying now? But I know I shouldn’t worry as I have self-agreed that I would still edit this by the time I’m ready to post this. Oh yes, I am typing right now for the sake of my blog being updated.
Now, I’m hitting that topic my mind has been keeping off since the last week. Why do I have so much things to yearn for (I’m talking about my blog, okay)? I totally make things complicated because I never get contented. So here’s what’s going on inside me just so anyone can relate and not be dumbfounded with my self-talks.
Do I actually even call myself a blogger, or a writer, in the most fundamental sense? Some principled dudes who have their own standard could tell me what I am, but I should know better. It’s always had been easy for us to play with the suffix –er, I think. You dance, you’re a dancer. You paint, you’re a painter. I write, then I’m a writer. I shit, I am a shitter. It makes all the sense in the world, don’t you think? But then what’s keeping me from writing is all that inhibitions which right now I’m realizing are just from my overly active preemptions and analysis of things. But I work this way, I know. And here’s what I do know. I have my blog which had been running for more than a year now. I was active for a whole year, dropping tons of not-so-thought-of blabbering from time to time. Okay, confession: I kind of doubted myself while typing “not-so-thought-of” because apparently, when you’re enjoying blog-posting with the anonymity slashed off, you’d think of how you’ll appear virtually. Then what really is my problem now? I had gone very inactive lately, trying to think if leaving is the best option. Well then, let me present with the options I considered and pretend that these interest anybody.
First, I thought of just deleting my account – but I truly know personally, no matter how hard I try to convince myself I can – that I couldn’t ever have the guts to delete something like this. I chose to grow up this way, being sentimental about the littlest of things. But hey, this is no little thing. This tumblr account had been my refuge when I needed one, and it carries a lot of memories, most – if not all – of which have surpassed the level of my standard at the things which must be kept immortalized. Though of course, nothing can really be immortalized totally. But while I was posting there back then, my main goal was to immortalize the memories, so does that cancel my beliefs? Okay, I got it. Just now, actually. I was writing for the sole purpose of making the memories last, by making them tangible (could they really be tangible?) through relayed stories published online. And that’s the reason I’m sick of this blog, because it just bears a lot of personal load that when I googled my username (I really did), it just made me want to throw up. There, a whole google search page showed me like an archive of my different posts, randomly selected from different time I posted them, and when I tried to instruct myself to act as if I was a stranger and it was my first time to know about forexampaul and tried reading random works (most of which were tagalong, half of which were long texts full of dramas and rants I’ve posted directly without editing and filtering, the other half were corny trashes or whatevers that were partly posted to gain likes and notes), again, they make me want to puke.
I won’t throw up because I despise myself for this. Well, perhaps a bit but – No! Of course I wouldn’t hate them because I know I was me when I created them. Okay, the ‘me’ of the many months ago. But I sure know that points to the bottom line; they’re history for me. They’re like bits of my past that I want to be remembered and that I want to recall when I would have the time to do so. They disgust me at some point, yes, but the problem here is I do not have the guts to permanently delete them.
Leave the account, create a new one. That’s the heaviest choice I could think of. But leaving it would mean leaving the memories. But why am I so frigging concerned of the memories? I now start to disgust myself because I feel like I’m such a crybaby over what? Over a blog account which doesn’t even cost a fortune? Yeah, well, right now I’m stealing time for sleep over this matter which wouldn’t actually help me to become a better person. Well, indirectly it could, as a matter of fact. But hey I’m digressing too much. You know what’s hard, the mind works way way way faster than my hands do, and so my thoughts come simultaneously and then they clutter up at the doors of my brain then push themselves trying to get out and the next thing I know, some had already fallen out of the line.
And so let’s just make this quick and simple. Like I said, I still will have the time to edit.
I can’t delete this because there’s just too memories it holds. But I want to delete it because of the posts itself, because I think I gave away too much of my personality, of my life. There! I said it. I was seeing this blog as a more-than-open book of my life and thoughts. I did not just open my life to public, I even photocopied the pages and distributed and then saved some for future references that I know would just be laughter-inducing chats. Bright idea came in, just a few seconds ago: Why don’t I go private so it’s only myself, and the people who would know the password, could see through it. But my mind is quick to rebut. Few days ago I decided to turn my current blog into a new blog. I mean, it would make things simple as compared to the need to create a new blog account, probably on a new platform like blogspot or wordpress. That’s creating a new life, a new path. And right now, I don’t think I really have to start fresh and raw, especially that I still have the choice not to. But what if I really have to start fresh and new? Let me think… I went to tumblr unexpectedly just to communicate to people I know, and then I lasted because I met a lot of different people along the way. It’s socializing, still. That’s why I wanted to stay as forexampaul. I wanted to still have the identity I installed in forexampaul, because I have to admit, the whole of that identity was truth. And I didn’t want to create another, or duplicate this current one. I just want to be organized but why is life giving me such a hard time?!
Fine, I know it’s me who’s giving me a hard time. I also resorted to just quit blogging and just stay on my silent writing. You know, just MS Word and me. Private life. That doesn’t interest the damn in me anymore, sorry. God knows I didn’t ever want to live in private. I just realize I don’t find the fun in being reclusive. I mean, if I’m going to stay in solidarity, then what’s it going to do to me? I look at the perks I’ll get when I’ll go out there and publish my work on the internet. Aside from using the technology our ancestors had given us relatively freely, well, I quite agreed on a reading which said that teens of this age write more than teens of older years had done. And the reason with that? A lot had been into online sites, posting blogs, updating statuses, which sure are forms of writing. In those ways we know someone out there could read our work, unlike when it’s only the profs in our writings that we satisfy. But going back to reality … I believe it shall be a better avenue to hone my writing. Oh yes, I won’t be hypocritical about this. I am claiming myself that I’m a writer – and a blogger, even – because I write – and I blog.
So, does that make things settled, then? Of course not. I haven’t even arrived at an articulate decision yet. Delete account? For sure, it’s a no. Create another account? Well, I’m putting second thoughts on this. I could direct people to my new blog, after all. I could post on forexampaul saying I have moved to this and that. Like who cares, right? But who cares if nobody cares? And who cares if anybody cares that nobody cares?
What if, I make that previous idea happen. I stop on updating forexampaul, post that I have moved to a different door, and invite people to go and visit me there. At least, I’ll know who really comes and reads me. But wait, that doesn’t cater my first need! I still need to get rid of the disgust I’m having toward my original blog. If I set it on private, I wouldn’t be able to tell people I’ve moved out. But if I set it as it is, just no updates, then it’s still my open book of life, free for all to read. Some may suggest I better just scan through them and delete the disgusting ones, but hey they’re almost two thousands – wait, there’s only that few so maybe I could. But I’m too lazy to even keep up the blog, how do you expect me to scan a thousand of posts? Maybe I could edit them massively, set a great deal of posts on private or what.
I think someone must kill me now. Okay, I’ll really try to make things final in this paragraph. I’m not going to delete the account. Abandoning it would be the best temporary idea. In any way, I think I am the only one who damn cares about what other people would get on reading my prehistoric entries there. And I had come to realize that I am just literally a few clicks away from deleting it just in case something messes up and I just really get a valid reason to cover myself up, or at least set it in private. About my new blog, I think I’m half and a quarter decided that I’d go leave and create. Right now, I’m thinking of creating a blurry sense of anonymity. I mean, I won’t hide myself. But I won’t give away too much, I won’t share too much personal shits, but I’ll be myself. Because that’s the best decision to do, always: be me. Wow, I’m imagining quite a few things now. Only the people who knew me by forexampaul would be able to follow me on this new one. And then I would gain more friends, whereupon they would know me by the present me. And by time, the past shall be buried and maybe I would be ready to let go. I knew it would be easy in the future. So there. Create a new blog, a sort of new identity, abandon old blog. (I accept that I kind of suck right now, that I act as if that blog really had built some attachment in me. It did, in the most honest way. But I just think I’m looking extra-pathetic because I’m revealing another weak point in me. But okay, the world has to get with it. It’s just freaking hard for me to let go. And I don’t think of it as a weakness. Perhaps, unhealthy, in some ways, but no worries, I’ll get over this, like maybe later. End of argument.)
To clarify, well I sort of figured out why I care so much about this like it’s the most important issue in the world right now. I guess I had undergone a series of maturity tests from the time that had passed in my recent life. And, I can tell, I have matured enough to know that I have been so immature in all the past posts in that old blog. It had been my diary, my journal, my scrapbook, my all, without thinking they all could be revealing heavy fractions of my personality that I didn’t know – because we could all have that part in us that we have yet to unearth. I think I’m not making so much sense but one thing’s for sure: One day, I’ll disgust this very post, as well. Because you know, maturity goes into a level up after some time, doesn’t it?
And as for my new blog … Well, I don’t think I really have to go and rest yet (though I’ve seen myself in the mirror minutes ago and my eyes were comparable to that of a panda’s), I know no one would mind if I’d pour on some more random words about this new agenda.
I want it to be as minimal as possible. Weeks ago I wanted it to be just some pure text blog. But I realize now that I shouldn’t. I long have realized that my writing talent would be a puppy compared to the dragons a lot of text bloggers have. And so, I’m deciding to make it a blog of inspiration. Dang. That sounded so cheesy so delete that. I wouldn’t want to call it a ‘blog about me’ because I know eventually it would just lure me to channel my rants about the world and everything will follow through. I never really took a long run of lectures on journalism, creative writing, literature, and more likes. That might decrease jottings of credibility in my structuring of words, but that does not in any way affect the wits and insights I’m ready to deliver, and that does not especially diminish my strength in bridging out my opinions and stories.
I’ve undergone a seminar for time management weeks ago and there was that one workshop that struck me the most. We were tasked to write five activities that we individually most of the time do, and through various categories we were told to score it, 5 being the highest. We were asked to sum all the scores up. Just a side note, studying got the awfully lowest score in my list, and that’s the most honest result. My top 1 activity was actually two, because I got a tie. I’m not so sure if I should say the other (because right now, it’s just a secret between me and myself) – okay I won’t tell, just for my own selfish sake – but the other was, obviously, you could guess, writing.
And with that, I presume I could induce a decision. I want my new blog to not be “an avenue of my expressed thoughts”, as I had described my old blog, but a fresh and clean thoroughfare to actually hone myself in writing. You know, I think I could actually post essays there, and publish my opinions and all. I noticed I rant on twitter a lot, and then maybe I could turn those micro-blogs into more useful pieces of lines and paragraphs. For a better world? No, not necessarily. It is, I think, for a better me.
This is just a sudden thought: isn’t that what I’m doing recently on forexampaul? And then I checked, yeah I remember, that for months, I had shifted from a type-then-post blogger into the one which gathers the idea first, then thinks if they should be posted or not, edit, make the sense better, make it visually better, make it worth-reading, then post. It can be tedious, but at least I can say I’m not dumping shitloads on the internet. But then, what I want to improve is the way how I write. I want to be myself now. No more precarious editing. Like what I usually do. I wouldn’t be too self-conscious if I wasn’t idolizing other bloggers. Idolizing is actually helpful. But it sometimes makes me want to change myself, at which points where I almost find myself imitating styles and ways. I want my old writing, only improved and less immature. I want my own writing. I want to bridge ideas from inside me, not the process of bridging ideas to impress people so they would like me. I want more insights. I want to impart something – if not inspiration or knowledge – to those who would waste minutes to read me. No, no. I don’t intend to be famous for anything, really. I just want the same treatment that I give to those writers whose blogs I constantly read. I just find the feeling of learning after reading, enigmatic. I find it critical and yet so easy to achieve. I want to get people to sigh in agreement because they just got that hiding message behind my words. Oh, do I really plan to hide messages? That’s so dreamy of me. But yeah, let’s just see what works for me. I don’t ever want to plan a lot anymore because I’m afraid I just keep on failing, but it’s good that I have the base now. I can finally start building the walls.
The thoughts I’ve sapped out right now sure is less than a quarter of what’s really inside me. But I guess I’ve drained out those that are ready to be processed. Yes, there are thoughts that don’t just come out readily – you know you have it inside you, yet it just keeps holding on in the walls of your brain.
Maybe I also wanted to be general in my point of view. I don’t want my life to be the center of my new blog. I want to impart learning – please do not ever discourage me because right now I’m actually believing that I could provide people with wisdom. My vocabulary is limited, I hold no expertise at writing, but I hold buckets of ideas that I am more than ready to share. I hope fate and time cooperates.
So, well, since I know this long post shall go on a brief editing, I can just end it here. I’m sure I will have to spend an eternity thinking of a new username for my new blog.
