I have been on hiatus in the blogging arena for quite a while and I have just decided to stop giving excuses.
It’s not about a lack of time, as I have always reasoned to myself. I can make time if if I want to but I haven’t. And so I decided that perhaps a bit of portability in this area would help.
A fine purchase, I should say. A mid-range tablet upgrade from its 2016 predecessor. So far, so good.
Productivity can be a mindset, so let’s see how well I do this time.
Why do I write letters?
Why do I write letters to fictional entities whom I can’t meet? Letters which will forever be hidden – unread?
Letters which express my profound appreciation of art.
Characters who are very well crafted leave a mark. They aren’t real but strangely feels real. They are even more relatable than real human beings – the funny thing about fiction.
There are characters who broke me.
Characters who made me happy.
Characters who taught me things I could never ever learn at school.
Such power is found on those characters that I sometimes hope for them to be real. To speak to them in person – to understand them at a personal level. It would be a pleasure.
But they are fictional.
They can’t be real.
Their dominion lies on the pages of the book I read, on the creative muse of those who brought them to life – their writers.
But I never regret meeting them – knowing them.
Others left with a lesson.
It’s a mysterious feeling. Weird. But beautiful.
Writing to them makes them feel real. It’s relaxing as it is meditative. It lets me dive into their world, speak to a character I’ve never known before – a chance to bear thoughts I never knew existed prior to writing them down.
Not all people see the beauty of writing.
Only a few.
I’m glad to be a part of the pact. Nothing could beat the feeling of wonder I have when writing.
It’s the craft I love – a craft I will forever do.
In God’s grace.
It first came as an interest powered by curiosity.
The idea of blogging was an attraction – it made me feel in control as much as I’m responsible.
Every time I put out a post, I feel the need to ensure it has the message I want to share. English isn’t my first language, and I’m not an English major too, so starting a blog using the language was a challenge.
But I am able to communicate, nonetheless.
As months pass by, blogging has become more than an interest. It became a routine, a habit. Then at some point a form of therapy for some intense emotional and mental issues I had to deal with.
Blogging then can be a wonderful past time. But I do it for it heals. And I learn more along the way.