Blogging is expensive. The time, money and effort you invest on it, is capricious. On many occasions, I and a hundred or so human being would ask this writer, what good will blogging bring? Money?Fame?Better English?Save the world? If you’re following my blogs, you would know by now, that I have totally none , zero, nil, of those.
Yet, I still blog.
“…Someday I’d like to be a writer who happens to have a blog…”
Then I realized, with all honesty, I too, I’m a writer. A bad writer maybe, but yes, I’m still a writer.
“But what do you write, doc?”
I’ve been writing blogs since its inception years ago. Blogging is an emotional and experience outlet for me back then. I was so happy ranting out things that many bloggers nowadays would consider “too mushy”. In fact, many bloggers have taught me to be more “focused” on purposeful blogging, and blogging with finesse. The harder I tried those, the less I am happy with my write up, strangely. So I’m re learning emo-blogging, by heart.
After years of soul searching and writing for each of those niches (medicine, hiking, photography, sports, personal) I came to one basic realization common to them all. I write to reminisce an experience. The simplest experience can be so elaborate (or verbose) when you write it and musical when you read it. I relish reading my experience. Or those by others, when written nicely.
Sometimes, I write to shape a “dull” or fill an “empty” mind. That mind is usually mine or on few occasions, others’. The former is to educate mine, the latter, is usually to fill minds with laughter, of wanton bliss and rarely with altruistic intentions. I have few success with the latter’s “intentions” usually because, I too cringe when someone else tries “to shape” my mind. So I stick with my own mind filling garbage.
Still on very few occasions, I write to empty my mind. Yes, empty. Empty frustrations, guilt, desperation and hopelessness. I wish I can just empty it like that and press ALT + Ctrl + Del so it goes away, pronto. I’m successful at times, but often, those hopelessness and frustrations just go to “sleep mode”, like my mac would do when its bored with me. I’m already happy with that.
You see, I’m stuck with blogging right now. I happen to be a writer born on an age where blogging is the platform. I’m a writer on evolution, or revolution perhaps. When blogging will become cliche and it goes a way, I’m still stuck with writing, maybe on another platform who knows. But I’ll continue to write.
It is my passion. The blog(s), happens to be my yellow paper, like the canvas to a painter.