(In which what the last thing I wanted now is censorship.)
Half a decade ago, whenever I wanted to let my feelings out, I just grab my diary and pen. And then I could enjoy all the liberty of writing about the very emotional and even useless feelings or issues that I had. But then the idea that my exclusive access to my diary that I thought was an unwritten law was broken the moment my mother took me to task for cutting classes (which she wasn’t supposed to know). That is the main reason why I don’t feel like keeping a diary anymore. The other reason was that manual writing is such an exhausting job considering that I have been used to using the keyboard.
That’s actually a good thing because I feel more comfortable tapping the keys to transfer my thoughts into text than subjecting my right hand to the awkward and painful job of producing cacography. Also, the ideas come when I’m in the office. It always seemed like a win-win situation.
But the situation today is a Catch-22. I feel bad. I feel confused and annoyed the moment I took the van to the office and listened to the other passengers bitch about other people. And now I feel bad again – humiliated and intrigued. I wanted to type their names and call them names. Yes. Right into this blog. And yes, I don’t have the guts to actually tell them they suck.
Thank goodness I am not mad enough to forget that this will be published on a public blog. If not, that would be my next worst blog vomiting since the insult last September 11.
Oh well, where’s my diary?