This Madness.

by Yas Jayson Thursday, May 14, 2009 10 palagay

Please forgive me after this.

I start blogging at fifteen. With no proper understanding why I blog, I made it a habit to keep track of my life as a senior high school student. I would type in haste without checking proper punctuations, subject-verb agreements, grammar and tenses that well, in fact, is still a major illness of my present blog. I write almost anything under the sun. From teachers to dreams to classmates to seminary studies to lousy thoughts. No reservations, just pure candidness of an innocent senior student from a public high school. When I re-read my posts from 2006 to early 2008, I would find my self laughing at my own foolish attempts to write. So childish. So lame.

Oh well, that was me. Years ago.

Three fucking blogging years. Three clumsy years wasting web spaces on free blogging sites.
Moved from a blogsite to another then to another one again. Lurked from blog to blog until I learned the trade of exchanging links. Met virtual friends, encouraged a handful to start their own. teachers. students. conyos. religious. socialists. OFWs. call center agents. photographers. writers. ordinary people from all walks of life. I became one of them in due time. blogger.

This has been my addiction in the same way that any teen boy would be hooked to basketball and Warcraft. In writing, I have carved memories. This has been my comfort zone when there is no place for me to hide and no shoulder for me to cry on. It is in here that I learned more about life and its many twisted lanes. If I have not tried blogging, there would be a different me. Way too different to the one who wrote this entry.

My writing has evolved. From the boyish story-telling way, I became a trying -hard existentialist. Now, I write on mood swings and not on daily basis. What I write are worse that trash. I write about rants, frustrations, losses, bitterness and shallow loneliness. I share parts of my shadow, only to find out that many people are ready to shed me glimpses of light. I am thankful in a way.

Why do I write? Because writing has been my only consolation. I write on blog to hide all my fears away. Because I need to look strong. Because I need to look happy and contented all the time. When life stone me with so many struggles, I have to look smart and battle-ready like a spartan that goes to war at any give time. I need to act as a normal human because deep inside, confusion strikes me everywhere. I do not want others to feel my pain. Because I believe, or assume that ,I am strong. Strong enough to bear everything. Turmoil pains me to the bones and instead of crying, I would resort to writing. I am the happiest person that you may know, but again, that is only one side of me. Beneath this mask are regrets, a life ruined and created by series of events.

So what is the point of all of these rants and pointless sentences? Nothing in particular. It's just that I am a little tired of this kind of life I am leading right now. Midnight travels, jacket collections, marlboro blue, 3 AM lunch breaks, few hours of sleep. Tired of being tagged as superman. (but mind you, even superman has kryptonite.) Tired of staying wide awake torn between thinking about returning to school, coming to work, paying the bills and leading a life I have been ever dreaming of.

I do not know what my future holds for me right now. As of now, I am still stacked in the usual routine of handling customer complaints, forgetting important dates and blogging in wrong grammar.

Three years and still counting. Same old shit.