To You – The Reader:

I have resisted to define my blog in a couple of sentences: what it is that the heart wants; faith as a hard concept to understand: the future being a mist; self-care; personal goals; objectives and realities. Neither have I drafted a specific mission for it. My initial thought: write out what comes to mind with as much truth as I can.

To be honest, being true to myself in writing is splitting to my conscience. It is foraging the earth for what at times is not there. It is looking away and looking back. Writing requires my ideals to be objective of myself – which is not intuitive. The juicy, the easy and fun stuff, to play the victim. All these are shorter, ways of achieving the goal – sharing something that gets attention. It gets frustrating when I’ve stared for days at the page as my personhood takes different shades and twists my field of vision, when events render me unable to gather my souls and formulate a state of being – unable to ponder. Taking mental notes has become a habit. But if I at times forget characters in a film just after having watched it, can I trust my memory? Doubt – I wrote about it once, concluded my definition for it but it has been hard to place my finger on when doubt rears its head. Do I get satisfied with the conclusions or leave the questions lingering?

Writing has taught me to listen to myself, but there have been gifts outside that the writing process cannot give:

One. Letting others in. Sharing means being ready to vacate space and allow someone else to touch, feel and tell for themselves how the food I make, as it goes into their mouths, leaves a bitter aftertaste. Writing is you by yourself, and the question is whether I can step erase some boundaries for others to see. Otherwise, there just remains a mist. While the writer can see through it, others remain blindsided by the words.

Two. Distractions. Allowing the time to give me desires, needs, wants and other pursuits come by. I came to love the way I looked on camera and got a camera. I started to notice how the t-shirt I’m wearing contrasts with my pants and personalised my closet. Such interests come, and I grow into them like the child I am. It’s been death for some of these interests, but what persists is what seems to have a good foundation for continuity. So does time to any endeavour – allowing the skin to shed off and see if what lies underneath is tangible and concrete or a hole into nothing.

Three. The moment. While looking for something to write, I had a conversation with a friend, and she mentioned an aspect of being that caught me mid-step. The present moment affords to me the space to be present. What do I then carry from my past into the moment that sticks on my mind? What do I pick from the future into the present that awakens my skin? The anxieties and guilt build a wall around which expression in the moment is stifled, unconsciously in the most part. Then that which is apparent is that while documenting all that is happening or has happened, I am chasing the wind – so that I can gaze at the past and see what good I made out of it so that in the future, I can look at it again. But why not put the pen down a minute and be – in the moment.

I thought about why I keep this blog, and why it matters. It isn’t a diary where I share any secrets. Neither is it a rant on about who did what where nor is it an account of my life. It has refused to be any of these and become a space where I can explore what lies between knowing and becoming crippled by doubt, uncertainty, emotion and fear. It is through writing here that I’ve been able to peek at what becomes of the faded dreams and drowned desires. I have been able to plough into the fog and breathed thinner air than my lungs can handle. It is that – the feeling of looking over your shoulder dear reader, in order to stare at both the abyss and hope that I would like you to offer you.

Staring at the reflection, sometimes I don’t know what to make of the reflection after the steam settles. Should that be how I see myself and have faith that it will clear, or should I wipe off to see with much more clarity? But why does it matter too? This blog is how I give language to these questions, and other ghosts that follow me onto the page. If you will, follow me to see what you may find.

Read on,
-Lau de Bugs