Here’s to twelve years of blogging

I was creating a different blog and then I thought of changing this blog’s appearance. So I did and then the perfectionist part of me decided to update every entry to make sure they were all consistent in style, such as using the ellipsis character instead of three dots or using the em dash instead of triple en dashes and the like.

I’ve realized that my blog is already around twelve years old! I started blogging in 2002 using GeoCities. I moved to WordPress (long before YaHoo! scrapped GeoCities) but I migrated the posts here. I have made the old posts private but I decided just recently to make some of them visible again.

This blog used to be an online journal of sorts, an account of some mundane and some significant events of my life, with musings on various subjects here and there. At some point, the updates became intermittent and it was partly because I felt there wasn’t anything remarkable to write about. I guess, for the most part, it was because I have found different avenues to express myself. Eventually, this blog transformed into a platform for my artistic and poetic undertakings.

I have also noticed that through the years my blogroll has shrunk. Most of my friends’ blogs have remained un-updated for years. Some have simply disappeared. And yet there are a few that persist. I have developed a respect for bloggers, who, through all the years, have continued to write, to chronicle the minutiae, to ramble about random topics, despite the potential absence of readers.

After all, as Rebecca Solnit, in her book The Faraway Nearby, wrote:

Writing is saying to no one and to everyone the things it is not possible to say to someone. Or rather writing is saying to the no one who may eventually be the reader those things one has no someone to whom to say them.

This blog is my “conversation with the absent, the faraway, the not-yet-born, the unknown and the long-gone” and hopefully, will remain so. Well, here’s to twelve years of blogging!


I haven’t written in a long while

I haven’t written anything in a long while apart from the sporadic poetry. Oftentimes, I would set out to write but I would find myself wanting of a topic. And even when a topic comes to mind, whenever I begin to spin it into words, I would find the words trite and I would discard what I have written.

I logged into my old WordPress blog and read some of the entries. I wrote about a lot of things… about what I learned, about what I felt, about what I experienced. Could it be, that in the present, I am learning less, feeling less, experiencing less, thus the diminished impetus to write?

Or could it be that I am simply distracted? By technology, for instance. When an idea comes, instead of allowing it to flourish, I would truncate it into a mere 140 characters or so because something else has caught my attention.

Rilke advised that the aspiring writer should ask himself if he must write. Must I write? I think I found the answer in a poem by Charles Bukowski that I stumbled upon recently. Here’s an excerpt:

if it doesn’t come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don’t do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don’t do it.

Bukowksi then summed it beautifully:

when it is truly time,
and if you have been chosen,
it will do it by
itself and it will keep on doing it
until you die or it dies in you.


there is no other way.


and there never was.