Why do I Blog?
I ran the treadmill with the M.O. today. In between gasps for breath to survive the ordeal of thinking while my brain was bouncing around, he somehow got me explain the reason for why I own a blog. I wouldn't have felt compelled to provide him with any explanation except that he started off by telling me that I own a blog and it reflects conceit, self-centeredness. To prove him wrong, I struggled to provide an explanation to the contrary:
I have always enjoyed writing. From the letters I used to write to relatives, to the short stories I typed on my uncle's antique Remington. When I experienced first love when I was in high school, I experimented with poetry and still dabble into it when the inpiration strikes.
I write long personal emails (work emails are often more direct to the point), telling stories about my life and the nitty gritty details that make up its insignificance. Insignificance that somehow gets portrayed as 'a wonderful life' simply because of how I put together the words.
It's like watching 'Seinfeld'. Notice how each episode is really about nothing but it entertains you for about half an hour and it makes you laugh and relaxes you. But when you look back to it when the credits come on and try to figure out what it was about, you realize it was really about nothing.
I write about what happens to me day-to-day, when it is worth writing. Not on a daily basis but when I have the luxury to find some quiet time to organize my thoughts and to share them with my readers. I do have a significant volume of regular visitors to my sites, including some that find their way from links from the sites of other blogger-friends (Jong, Hannahlou, Renee, Daisy among others).
I'm not very good with checking on the statistics of my sitemeter. I don't really care so much about who reads the entries as much as who responds to them. On the average, when I have a new entry I get two or three emails about it - in agreement or otherwise. On some controversial entries (which I honestly try to steer away from), I got about 25 on the last one. These emails I do not delete and keep in a separate folder to treasure. But the sitemeter does indicate that I have good readership.
I refuse to post a picture of myself or to reveal the irrelevant. I want my readership to get to know me as they read about me. Like an onion slowly peeling skin until you get to the core (then realize there is nothing there
). Maybe they will develop a false image of what I am but it would be about how they'd want me to be, not as how I will insist they see me. Except for a few guys 
who had emailed me pictures of themselves to justify their serious intent to get to know me better, I don't really know much about anyone who reads reflections2, let alone their reasons to come back and read future entries.
I write to share about the life of me (single, with a million friends who sub as my family, renting a studio the size of my bathroom at my parent's house in Manila, blind-dating, working in a 9-to-5 shift, non-car owner, daily public commuter, Central Park denizen, NYSC member
) living in a city like New York. Manhattan is just teeming with blogging ideas. The subway, the bus, the streetcorners and life in a small island co-existing with more than 8.1 million (as of 2003) other individuals of varied races, faith, breed, economic bracket, sexual preference or psychological and emotional maturity is a petri-dish for writing ideas.
I write about my joys, my heartbreaks, my opinions and sometimes is able to make the pages reverberate with the sound of my laughter, specially to the people who has heard it. I write about friends and their friend's friends, or drag my reader on the boredom involved in sitting through a snowstorm. Sometimes it surprises me when I get messages from friends who tell me that they can feel exactly what I am talking about and how sometimes I publish something that hits too close to home.
I own a blog because I like to share something that is close to my heart and something that gives me pleasure - writing. I find pleasure in being able to come out with a good entry not based on anyone else's judgement but by how I feel had been able to summarize my thoughts. I own a blog because I find pleasure in knowing that I am the girl whose life has similarities to everyone else's including my rants and raves. Maybe it is self-centerness or conceit indeed but whatever it is, this is one corner of this universe where I can unmask that part of me to share with whoever wants to give me 30 seconds of their daily life.
I have written about the M.O. many times. He is the one person who in the three years I have been in New York has been the single constant. I have changed boyfriends several times, residence twice and moved around work through 3 departments. I have made new friends, chosen to unload some but the M.O. is the tender image of the man who has never had bad thoughts or intent toward me and have, even now, only wished for me what would make me happy. Even if it means watching me swoon about the Italian one more time.
I realized he was giving me a hard time defending my blog because he belongs to my regular readership. He just wanted me to update it with something that puts the last sad entry to archive-mode. That way when he returns to it in the morning, right before he starts his work, he'd be assured that I am OK again.
I am always OK, as long as the M.O. keeps me running and laughing and reminds me that there are other aspects in my otherwise insignificant life that is quite significant, too.
I have always enjoyed writing. From the letters I used to write to relatives, to the short stories I typed on my uncle's antique Remington. When I experienced first love when I was in high school, I experimented with poetry and still dabble into it when the inpiration strikes.
I write long personal emails (work emails are often more direct to the point), telling stories about my life and the nitty gritty details that make up its insignificance. Insignificance that somehow gets portrayed as 'a wonderful life' simply because of how I put together the words.
It's like watching 'Seinfeld'. Notice how each episode is really about nothing but it entertains you for about half an hour and it makes you laugh and relaxes you. But when you look back to it when the credits come on and try to figure out what it was about, you realize it was really about nothing.
I write about what happens to me day-to-day, when it is worth writing. Not on a daily basis but when I have the luxury to find some quiet time to organize my thoughts and to share them with my readers. I do have a significant volume of regular visitors to my sites, including some that find their way from links from the sites of other blogger-friends (Jong, Hannahlou, Renee, Daisy among others).
I'm not very good with checking on the statistics of my sitemeter. I don't really care so much about who reads the entries as much as who responds to them. On the average, when I have a new entry I get two or three emails about it - in agreement or otherwise. On some controversial entries (which I honestly try to steer away from), I got about 25 on the last one. These emails I do not delete and keep in a separate folder to treasure. But the sitemeter does indicate that I have good readership.
I refuse to post a picture of myself or to reveal the irrelevant. I want my readership to get to know me as they read about me. Like an onion slowly peeling skin until you get to the core (then realize there is nothing there
). Maybe they will develop a false image of what I am but it would be about how they'd want me to be, not as how I will insist they see me. Except for a few guys who had emailed me pictures of themselves to justify their serious intent to get to know me better, I don't really know much about anyone who reads reflections2, let alone their reasons to come back and read future entries.I write to share about the life of me (single, with a million friends who sub as my family, renting a studio the size of my bathroom at my parent's house in Manila, blind-dating, working in a 9-to-5 shift, non-car owner, daily public commuter, Central Park denizen, NYSC member
) living in a city like New York. Manhattan is just teeming with blogging ideas. The subway, the bus, the streetcorners and life in a small island co-existing with more than 8.1 million (as of 2003) other individuals of varied races, faith, breed, economic bracket, sexual preference or psychological and emotional maturity is a petri-dish for writing ideas.I write about my joys, my heartbreaks, my opinions and sometimes is able to make the pages reverberate with the sound of my laughter, specially to the people who has heard it. I write about friends and their friend's friends, or drag my reader on the boredom involved in sitting through a snowstorm. Sometimes it surprises me when I get messages from friends who tell me that they can feel exactly what I am talking about and how sometimes I publish something that hits too close to home.
I own a blog because I like to share something that is close to my heart and something that gives me pleasure - writing. I find pleasure in being able to come out with a good entry not based on anyone else's judgement but by how I feel had been able to summarize my thoughts. I own a blog because I find pleasure in knowing that I am the girl whose life has similarities to everyone else's including my rants and raves. Maybe it is self-centerness or conceit indeed but whatever it is, this is one corner of this universe where I can unmask that part of me to share with whoever wants to give me 30 seconds of their daily life.
I have written about the M.O. many times. He is the one person who in the three years I have been in New York has been the single constant. I have changed boyfriends several times, residence twice and moved around work through 3 departments. I have made new friends, chosen to unload some but the M.O. is the tender image of the man who has never had bad thoughts or intent toward me and have, even now, only wished for me what would make me happy. Even if it means watching me swoon about the Italian one more time.
I realized he was giving me a hard time defending my blog because he belongs to my regular readership. He just wanted me to update it with something that puts the last sad entry to archive-mode. That way when he returns to it in the morning, right before he starts his work, he'd be assured that I am OK again.
I am always OK, as long as the M.O. keeps me running and laughing and reminds me that there are other aspects in my otherwise insignificant life that is quite significant, too.