My Personal Bubble

10 01 2010

Someone said something to me today. It was a complain about my blog and how it’s not really worthy of a regular read, considering the fact that i don’t usually state much that would make sense to a general reader. This person feels frustrated every time they read it because there’s not enough to grasp. But honestly, what exactly does a blog mean to you?

Dictionary.com states:

Main Entry: blog

Definition: an online diary; a personal chronological log of thoughts published on a Web page; also called Weblog, Web log

Now let’s break it down.

Main Entry:      diary
–noun, plural -ries.
Definition:     a daily record, usually private, esp. of the writer’s own experiences, observations, feelings, attitudes, etc.

Main Entry:      personal
–adjective
Definition:     of, pertaining to, or coming as from a particular person; individual; private: a personal opinion.

So what exactly am I missing?

It’s true that I reveal very little about my private life. I’m not very forthcoming with the people close to me about certain things in my life but I make no apologies. When there’s a certain sadness within the topic, you won’t see me pursing the topic for more than a couple of sentences. Reason being that I don’t feel it serves anyone much purpose, other than burden.

To be honest, there’s not one instant in my 20 years of life, that I’ve ever felt better, talking about something. If it were anger issues, yes. Pounds of weight will be lifted off my shoulders from ranting about it. But if it were genuine thoughts and major feelings of sadness or desperation, you won’t see me talking to you about it. If I do, it only means I have to, fearing you’d find out anyway. Truly, I’ve never been completely honest with anyone. That’s why I keep a diary. I write in blogs. It’s not because I crave the slightest bit of attention. When I write something like this that’s not revealing much fact, rather splurging on what seems like radical nonsense, it’s mostly me, ranting out to myself. That’s the only way I’ve learned to cope, and I think it does me well. Only I would understand this and only I would be burdened by this. Yes?

I’m not dropping hints. I’m not out for a “Hey are you okay? What’s wrong?”. It’s bull and you know it. It’s for me and if you don’t like it, the wonders of technology has given you the wonderful option of erasing the image of this page with the touch of a button.

I’m not here to score statistics. This is for me. I will reveal whatever the fuck I want to, in whatever fucking quantity and fucking fashion I feel most fucking appropriate. Ya digg?

Someone said something to me today. It was a complain about my blog and how it’s not really worthy of a regular read, considering the fact that i don’t usually state much that would make sense to a general reader. But honestly, what exactly does a blog mean to you?

Dictionary.com states:

Main Entry:      blog
Part of Speech:      n
Definition:      an online diary; a personal chronological log of thoughts published on a Web page; also called Weblog, Web log

Now let’s break it down.

Main Entry:      diary
–noun, plural -ries.
Definition:     a daily record, usually private, esp. of the writer’s own experiences, observations, feelings, attitudes, etc.

Main Entry:      personal
–adjective
Definition:     of, pertaining to, or coming as from a particular person; individual; private: a personal opinion.

So what exactly am I doing wrong?

It’s true that I reveal very little about my private life. I’m not very forthcoming with the people close to me about certain things in my life but I make no apologies. When there’s a certain sadness within the topic, you won’t see me pursing the topic for more than a couple of sentences. Because to me, it doesn’t serve anyone much purpose, other than burden.

To be honest, there’s not one instant in my 20 years of life, that I’ve ever felt better, talking about something. If it were anger issues, yes. Pounds of weight will be lifted off my shoulders from ranting about it.But if it were genuine thoughts and major feelings of sadness or desperation, you won’t see me talking to you about it. If I do, it only means I have to, fearing you’d find out anyway. Truly, I’ve never been completely honest with anyone. That’s why I keep a diary. I write in blogs. It’s not because I crave the slightest bit of attention. When I write something like this that’s not revealing much fact, rather splurging on what seems like radical nonsense, it’s mostly me, ranting out to myself. That’s the only way I’ve learned to cope, and I think it does me well. Only I would understand this and only I would be burden by this. Yes?

I’m not dropping hints. I’m not out for a “Hey are you okay? What’s wrong?”. It’s bull and you know it. It’s for me and if you don’t like it, the wonders of technology has given you the wonderful option of erasing the image of this page with the touch of a button.

I’m not here to score statistics. This is for me and what little I share is genuine.

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