I Will Carry On

I’ve been blogging since the early noughties. Those years were the heydays; there was more freedom then. I can talk about anything without much concern about correctness whether it’s political, grammatical, or contextual. There’s not much to filter—I say what I want to say how I would say it. Nothing was ever vapid, mediocre and frivolous. I can talk about anything from an elevator incident, my list of sexiest men, a hilarious interaction, my frustrations over a colleague at work, my day-to-day activities—down to every embarrassing incident, heartbreak and unrequited love. It was pure, fun and almost cathartic.

When I first got into this, it was never my intention to have a readership. Looking back, it was never my goal. Before the internet age, I’ve always been into writing stuff on my notebooks (stories, anecdotes, one-liners, quotes) and I don’t think I ever intend for someone to read it. It’s more about me encapsulating feelings and memories. Even now that I’m accessible, sometimes I still get conscious knowing that this blog and its content is open to scrutiny.

I knew I was using a public blog-publishing service, but I didn’t realize my posts would have a reach. During its peak, I didn’t expect the attention I got even if a part of me honestly enjoyed it. After all, I was always deviant; somewhat a misfit. I don’t see myself as charming or likeable. But when I start writing, some took notice. People at work began to know me as that girl who writes a blog.

While there were those who implied that I’m not good enough, there were those who never stopped bolstering me and encouraging me to keep doing it. Especially strangers that gave me some validation. I remember this one time when my uncle was asked by his boss if he’s related to me, as she happens to come across my old blog. “She’s good,” his boss said. 

My candor may have also gotten me in trouble and there were things I regret sharing out there, but over the years I’ve written some really good stuff of which I’m secretly proud of because I told it in a tone in which I speak.

My old blog, now archived, as I'm guilty of oversharing here.

Now blogs are no longer as popular. If for anything, some even think it’s dead. Seasoned, popular bloggers—the people who I once looked up to—admitted a significant drop in their readers and page views. Some writers don’t like to use the word “blogging” anymore and millennials are into vlogging (which is something I would never ever be confident doing even if I’m two decades younger). These days, it seems a lot of people won’t be bothered reading some person’s writing when social media offers more appealing content. This is why when I saw that my page views reached more than 200 the other day (and continued for another two days), I’m pretty sure it was a glitch. For one, I don’t think even my closest friends and former readers still come to this site.

But you know what, I figured, it’s okay. I write for my own pleasure and it’s one of the very few things I’m ever passionate about. If I give this up only because of the thought that no one’s reading what I write, is just a shallow reason to do it in the first place. If that’s my only motivation, then maybe I should pursue other things. So while I am always grateful when I’m being heard or read, it would also be okay if my site would have fewer readers.

I got a chance to chat with one of my favorite writers, Regina. She told me that if I love writing, then I should keep doing it, even if it means I’m only doing it for myself.