I mainly have a blog so that I can impose the rubbish I think of on anyone scrolling through the site. Because, well you cannot un-see things. Because my readers cannot un-read the words their minds registered in passing, and the same way an exhibitionist gets pleasure from flashing his/her genitals to scandalized /shocked/elated/JustCouldntCareLess mass of people, I get pleasure from well, telling my nonexistent readers my rambling mind’s gibberish.
Its like having a personal diary, only with other people reading it, so that you don’t feel too crazy for talking to yourself. It is for social conformity, it is for a sense of comfort. For a person who shirk from companionship, who has qualms about attachment and people, and at the same time is irrepressibly lonely, blogs are those mute buttons, on pressing which you can freely speak your mind to people, knowing full well that they cannot hear a word.
I remember making this blog, labeling it, “A Liars Den,” feeling so clever because well its the internet, and hey, everyone lies on the internet right?
A few weeks later, as I am rambling on about why on earth I blog in the first place, I realise the title is lame, ugly, pretentious and frankly makes no sense. What lies? Why would I want my potential readers to think I am a liar? For a sense of mystery? It gives my blog, what- a sense of twisted honesty when I claim to be ‘lying’? Ironically though, I have been more honest in some of my work here, than I am even to myself. I guess, that was what it was about, maybe I wasn’t so pretentious while naming my blog ‘a liar’s den.’ Isn’t your den your home, where you ultimately come to rest and be yourself?
So here I am, at the peak of anonymity with a sense of pride, being my actual, honest weird self.
No re-edits. No proof reads.
Just plain simple honesty.
Dear World Wide Web,
You are officially my new personal diary. Even though you don’t have a pink cover and my crush’s initials written in a secret script only me and my bff knows.