I remember the days when blogging consumed my life regularly.
It had all started in a rather roundabout way, as I had hoped to flirt (albeit VERY indirectly) with a guy I worked with. My assumption is that surely he would read my posts, be taken by me, and declare his undying love. In reality, the guy was a player and I was a fun game in his book. I moved on.
Like many others, blogging was a way to connect with friends and have a place to share the cool stuff I found or speak my mind. Then it became something bigger — a way of connecting with new people, getting to know them and allowing them to know me. That is still the best reason I blogged.
Then I lost it. The blogosphere grew exponentially fast, and I felt like one more voice in an ocean of voices. The way people were connecting changed, and in some places, high school-esque cliques seemed to form. So I stopped. I didn’t want to worry about producing content for the day, or forcing myself to attend festivals and events I didn’t want to go to, just to grab new photos. I wanted to live my life fully for myself.
And that’s precisely what I’ve done for the past two years? three years? I’m not even sure anymore.
Blogging has become like theatre for me – a dull aching inside me, feeling as if something is missing but unsure what the pangs are most of the time. I miss being on stage. I miss writing. I miss connecting with my audience, whether they’re in plush red velvet seats or sitting at home on the sofa with a cup of coffee.
I’m not entirely sure what this new phase will be, but I’m going deep this time. I’m not holding back. Let’s begin…