I don’t know why I stopped writing. Perhaps it is a sign that I am a victim of the times. With urgent, immediate gratification of Facebook, Twitter and Instagram, a blog post feels like standing in a quiet, empty room, speaking my mind to the four walls.
But I feel like I betrayed you, dear blog. I used to fill you with poems, and moments of beauty. With thoughts and discoveries. Now they’ll more likely remain in my head, or be succinctly captured in a single photo. No caption.
But I miss words. How I miss them.
My first blog post was getting close to ten years ago now. Writing saw me through three years of university – ‘finding myself’ (haven’t yet). It saw me through five years of travelling around the world, growing, developing in identity and confidence…finding myself…(nope…not yet). And somewhere along the way…the river became a stream; became a pond, then a puddle. Now I sit at my desk with a palmful of water in my hand, wondering which cup to pour it into.
Facebook? No. Let the newsfeed remain empty of my thoughts this night. Let the chatter continue without me.
Instagram? No. The world surely does not need another perfectly filtered and cropped thumbnail from me. Let the images flicker to a stop.
Twitter? Never got used to the thing. Thank goodness.
And who is listening to me this night? Who is reading? Perhaps I am alone. Rain is falling outside, and the occasional stray firework shoots into the sky, some in the neighbour’s garden; some in the dark streets beyond; I can only hear the sporadic booms.
No matter. It is a relief to simply pour this water onto the page. To hold hands with these words, my oldest friends, and dance a circle. To get to know each other once again.
Much has happened in my absence. I will try to share more as time goes by.