I, like nearly every other girl in my fifth grade class, kept a diary under my pillow, tucked away from the prying eyes of my sisters and little brother. My mother advised me against this public-secrecy- as a writer, she understood the power of words, and the incredible compulsion to put them to paper, but as a sister, she knew the dangers of writing your innermost thoughts and storing them anywhere your siblings could find them. "Be careful what you write, Irene. It never goes away." Needless to say, she was never a big fan of the Internet.
When I first started writing on Internet forums, I thought I'd only do so out of support for my other friends who blogged. I'd make a Wordpress, a Tumblr, what have you, and, when reminded, would log on to read their inanities and occasionally post some of my own. I never really wrote anything worth mentioning until I realized I could blog on Myspace- and once I realized that, there was no stopping me. My rants ranged from familiar spats to full on hate-letters to friends I had lost, loves I had never had. The Internet became my own personal dartboard; I would hurl anonymous hatred out into the vast expanse of URLs and HTML without any repercussion. That is, until my mom found my blog and so soundly kicked my proverbial ass that I was scared to look at a QWERTY again, let alone implement it.
I would hope that somewhere in all that mess I would have found a sense of stability in my writing, but alas. My Moleskine can only hold so much, my emotions can only last so long without an audience, my self-awareness will only allow me a few minutes at a keyboard before I think to myself,
"Who am I kidding? No-one's going to read this anyway." And yet, here I am, the proud owner of a blushing blog. Hey Public, nice to see ya.
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