this is my fish bowl

After maintaining a handwritten, private journal since I was ten years old, I’ve finally taken the step to open it all up to the world. I had signed up at Bloggers in July last year. It was partly because there’s this voice within me that urged me all the time: “hey idiot, if those stupid publishers won’t publish your work, then you might as well go publish it yourself!” So I created my blog. What better way to reach wider readership than to post your work on the web where millions of eyes—voyeurs included—can scrutinize them!

But that blog just sat there for months, gathering virtual cobwebs, yawning in its emptiness. Ok, I was scared. It’s like stripping naked and exposing yourself to the elements (not that I haven’t dreamed of doing that). It’s like being dissected like a frog and put under the gawking eyes of high school kids. It’s like…ok, enough with stupid similes.

Just recently, I got this invitation from Dionne (merci pour ton mel, mon amie, et bon courage à ton mariage!) to go check out her blog. I was like oh my god, I gotta have my own blog too! In my excitement, I created another blog, completely forgetting that, eons ago, I had already created one. So I ended up with two empty blogs.

At least, this one won’t stay empty that long.

Journal writing has, for me, been a habit ever since my sister bought me a tacky tickler notebook way back in gradeschool. But it was our maid who taught me what exactly to write in it. She said, I should always write what I felt. And since those carefree days were filled with nothing but backyard football, hide-and-seek, and tumbang patis, all my journal entries ended with the line “Today, I’m very happy.” Don’t blame me! My innocent mind then couldn’t process such complicated emotions like hate, love, guilt, jealousy, and what have you. And even if it could, I don’t believe my realm of experience allowed me to have such grand, passionate emotions running about in my little skinny heart.

Now that I can freely process all sorts of emotions, noble and ignoble alike, I believe this would be more interesting, for me at least. This blog, in a way, is my only shot at posterity—or immortality if you will. Call it self-indulgence. At least I won’t just write for mice that don’t give a hoot about my musings. This would at least be read by real people. Love it or hate it. This is who I am. This is my world. This is my fish bowl.