In the past week two people have asked me why I write this blog on a daily basis? Is it a combination of
- self obsession, or
- a personal diary, or
- a way to get attention
The personal sharing on a forum as public as this, has raised queries about the rationale behind this sharing. They wondered given that there is an audience, is one writing for one self, or for the others or writing to be read? What and where does it stem from?
Someone even said, that the drama in life was universes way of making sure i had enough fodder for the blog.. hahaa tat is a refreshing way of looking at it.
Made me think.
This writing started on a pure whim. A result of seeing Julie and Julia one day and wanting to do a one thing everyday kind of writing. There is a deeper lining to it that keeps the fires going. In fact has come to the stage that if I dont post something, it makes the day have an incomplete touch to it.
So what then is the motivation to write. and perhaps a more critical question to ask is how honest is this writing, simply put how much is written for the audience, how much for me, and how much a mindless stream of words pouring itself out.
Reasons to write in are simple. For a year want to record 1 thing, something that touched you that day. Its kinda like creating a memory bank. But I would be lying if i said that this was a honest space for that. For very often there is a rather delicate fencing game that dictates the content of this post.
On one hand is the idea to record the BESTEST moment of the day. This battles with the desire to be sensitive to the needs of the other people whose life intertwines with mine and not make them public figures since they did not sign up for that when they met me. This battle is fought on the ground on keeping private some moments and sharing some, yet for any of this to me meaningful, to me if to noone else it is imperative that the memories be stored and recorded without any layers of added on varnish.
Rather complex it sounds when stated like that.
Made me also wonder for the first time, what impression of me would someone form if they were to only read these blogs. For those who know me in person and then read, the story is different. For those who don't and read only these entries, the perception of me may be very real or very removed from reality.
AND I DONT WANT TO KNOW WHAT THAT IS!
I really really don't. As a child for the longest time, I was addicted to Enid Blyton. I read everything she wrote, each book was poured over with intensity, yet 9 year old me was happy in the knowledge that she was a he. For that matter, my new favourite author is Murakami. He is as reclusive a man as can be, with his last public appearance 4 years ago. His books dont say much about him, yet in each readers mind there is a mental image that is formed of who he is, what he thinks, how he looks... so vivid is the writing that the image is crystal clear. Reality only tarnishes the image to make it mundane.
Anonymous interactions permits for the truer us to surface a lot faster than real interactions. The prejudice of knowing how the other person reacts is missing, and one can be.
Have a friend. hahahaaa, not sure if it can be called that "friend" given I cant reach him minus the window of a Yahoo screen. We have never met or spoken. We dont want to meet or speak. Yet we are storehouses of each others secrets because there is an open sharing that is allowed ONLY BECAUSE, we are never going to cross paths.
What is the drivel directed towards.
Simple truths, that I write for me. To record a bit of my thoughts and list them down. I also tweak the content to make sure that the juciest sauciest tales are mine to savour. So there is a perception management done, albeit under the pretense of protecting my immediate circle of friends and family, but if truth be told it is to protect myself from censure, judgement and critique from persons who get to see only a slice of me. This slice.
There is nothing called pure honesty. Except maybe for the wailing of a 1 day old baby. Everything else is a manipulation. live with it