I don’t know what’s going to happen when I sit down to write these things. Whatever thoughts and ideas that are whispering and lurking sometimes reveal themselves, like a slow summer dawn sky, the first impending light, then a sliver of yellow, then imperceptibly brighter and lighter and more colourful. The street lights click off. A new day begins.
A new post takes form.
I like to write.
I like to put things down here ‘on paper’.
I do it for me. It uncovers hidden thoughts.
Like butter, it clarifies.
And like butter, I’m slippery too. I do not tell you much about myself. What I look like. Where I live. What I do for a living. In the old days of the internet and weblogs, that’s what we did, or didn’t do — use our real names and selves, not never, not me.
I don’t really believe in this kind of honesty. Because really it’s a false honesty — just look at facebook and instagram. It’s oversharing otherwise or maybe also.
At the same time, I am always ranting against anonymous comments and troll accounts on social media and other online sites. There is too much animosity for anonymity.
When I was backpacking through Asia and Australia, I had a box of Trojans in my bag. They were orange and lightly ribbed. The box slowly got pushed further and further down into my pack until I nearly forgot that they were there. The box got battered and beaten, flattened and spilled opened but my supply of orange ribbed rubbers remained nearly the same for months and months.
But I knew they were there.
Do you see what I’m saying here? Do you like that analogy?
I never know when I sit down here to write what’s going to happen.
Writing a blog, for me, is like having an endless supply of orange rubbers not forgotten near the bottom of my backpack.
Think of me now. That’s why I write here.