Thoughts while having that instant chicken noodle soup from that green packet, high in sodium and MSG, plus loads of dried basil, parsley, oregano and that green leafy thing I robbed from our ref.

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I love surfing the internet so much (including reading blogs nowadays) that it’s an addiction and something that replaced watching the television. I get to read thoughts of random strangers, of well known writers, of closet writers,  of artists, musicians, of  people I didn’t even have a chance (or I think I’d never) get to. I also even get the chance to read stories behind the headlines.

This actually got me into thinking, do people believe everything they read?  You don’t, right? You only get to read one side of the coin, you only get to read the part where the author is willing to share, you only get to read as much as the blogger was willing to research if the entry is informational.

Wala lang. I’m just thinking of my way of blogging. My blog’s 100% personal, non-intellectual, non-addicting, but hopefully meaningful one.  I write my truth,  sometimes fictionalized, even if that truth means fighting whatever I’m feeling inside.

Why I blog?

Grammar, syntax, spelling. I still commit a lot of mistakes. My vocabulary is that of a 12 year old and you will not need to worry of finding highfalutin words here and there (unless of course I relate life experiences to science, hence using some jargons, so I can remember so concepts better).

Am I ashamed of that? Not really. At the time I started to write, what was most important was that I got to express my thoughts and feeling, to process them and hopefully understand them (or not, meaning I just get more confused because more questions arise).

I did intend to store my thoughts here because I wanted someone to read it. The thing back then was, I want people to read it in the future. I write open letters, tributes to people who became part of my life and memories I would like to be passed on. I write about my struggles, A LOT about my dreams, about my attempt to twist the miserable-real-world into something worth living in, my boastful moments (vanity vs. pride), and the littlest things that makes me appreciate how beautiful the world - whether that world is inside the vastness of our minds and here on earth where everything is tangible.

And then I discovered blogs. Those mind-boggling-gets-you-hooked-just-upon-reading-their-very-first-sentence entries. I discovered my stories are not that different from them. We all have these unique fantasies we create from real life but the context is universal - it’s about our life’s journey and love. I get the idea that I could share as well.

But I wonder where they get the courage of sharing their thoughts well in public? I, for one, is afraid to be “read” specially by my friends because I’m afraid to be well-understood. I write about things I don’t usually talk about with other people (well, the problem is I’m really not a talker, right?). The readers of my blog, get to know a part of me, and most of the people who knows me would know another part. I don’t intend to be so mysterious, but it’s difficult when people know you too well. I’m afraid of trusting everything to someone who might just use it against me someday - or abuse that knowledge. Or maybe I’m just afraid that people would judge the things I say or do. I am also afraid of being misunderstood. There are some things I can’t talk about in details, there are things I choose to keep to myself, specially if I know it won’t have any effect on another person. (Ooopss, or maybe if I know how great the effect it would bring to another). Sometimes, I feel it’s better that they know nothing than know a part then create speculations that I can’t neither confirm nor deny.

I opened my previous blog to some 4-5 of my friends. It didn’t matter whether they really read it because what’s important back then was when something happens (haha..) somebody would know where to find it. [Yes it was almost all-emo-to-the-yuckiest level for a lot of smart bloggers out there. I still keep those old posts, just like I still have my love letters back in highschool, hehe.]

WHY AM I SAYING THESE THINGS AGAIN AND AGAIN?

Because I want to be reminded. Writing is a learning experience for me, not just to explore my thoughts but the “language” itself. I still learn something every time I write, every time I read my friends’ blogs, everytime I stumble upon an interesting page.

Because I want to convince myself that it’s all right to be read.

Because I want to convince myself that there are still people I can trust, who wouldn’t use knowledge to get hold of what they want, or what they think they want.

Because I am still so stubborn to talk about whatever-things yet I want to speak about them. (It’s those, lame, twisted pride that don’t care what you think about me so long as I know what I want, I know what I know, and I know who I really am). Haha, I didn’t want to talk about it this way, but it is a form of therapy - in a meditative-anti-crazy sense (this sentence really didn’t mean anything don’t worry).

Because I am renewing my VOW to WRITE for GROWTH, just like how it somehow helped me years before.

Because I WANT YOU TO WRITE as well. About anything. You’re your own audience. All others are just passersby who WON’T really care whether you write good or bad stuff (internet people are smart to know what should be believed in, right?). I write C-R-A-P I know, I’m definitely light years far from a journalist and I wouldn’t even dare to call myself a “decent writer”. I write from within and for my “soul” (and thus I avoid writing about political and social issues because that’ll be hypocrisy for me — I am not knowledgeable enough to disseminate FACTS or intelligent opinions.). Anyways, you might be surprised that one day you’ll find your ANGEL (or angels perhaps) - someone who will take time to understand what you write, will not judge you for what you write and just appreciate your soul through the letters. The best thing though, among those passersby who don’t really care whether you’re writing terribly, you will get to touch at least ONE OTHER SOUL, no matter how fleeting the moment is. It’s guaranteed.

And because I’ve read this from Warrior of the Light Online — Issue nº 171

As the pen traces out words on the paper, your anguish disappears and your happiness remains. For this to happen, it is necessary to have the courage to look deep inside yourself, disclose this to the outside world, and be even more courageous to know that one day whatever you write could (and should) be read by somebody. And what if it’s something very intimate? Don’t worry.

Thousands of years ago, Solomon wrote the following words: “Whatever has been is that which will be; And whatsoever has been done is that which will be done; And there is nothing new under the sun” (Ecclesiastes 1:9).

In other words: if thousands of years ago there was nothing new, just imagine now! Our feelings of happiness and anguish are still the same, and we should not hide them. And even though there is nothing new under the sun, there still remains the need to translate all this for ourselves and for our generation. —

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Oh and yes, I ought to blog less already.

And Pollyanna was long gone, my friend Jay. She’s just plain Ana now.