i've always been hesitant about blogging. it always starts off as being a personal thing, and yet last time i soon felt i was writing for who was reading, instead of for myself. so my blog addresses got passed around to my friends and soon i was feeling like i was producing for an audience.
my entire life, i've kept journals. the ones from when i was ten, eleven, twelve had been thrown out in a fit of adolescence embarassment, but i kept the ones from grade nine onwards even though, of course, i'm embarassed by those now. however, i learned somewhere along the way that just because i'm embarassed about the way i was then doesn't invalidate those thoughts, feelings, want. instead of looking at it as a reflection of who i was then, i now look at those journals as evidence of the steps i went through to get where i am. that girl is somewhere still deep in there, as changed and mutated as she may be.
nevertheless, writing has always been a joyful part of my life. as the years progressed though, i always assumed that the words would be there when i needed them. in the past few years, i've been writing less and less; the fiction and short stories disappeared first, then the poetry, then the journal entries, and lastly the letters vanished. soon, not even the words were there, and it felt like such a gaping hole in my life, a fundamental piece of myself missing. this is why this blog appeared. i needed somewhere for just me again, for thoughts and ideas and notes to just flow. for inspiration. for hope. and soon again, for the pure joy of it.
