Most of us love change in its simplest form. A change in seasons, a change in clothes, and a change of jobs – we except, and sometimes even enjoy. Recently, my friend lost access to her blog, which she had created and come to love. However, it was not her first blog but her second. She was debating as to moving into her old blog or starting one afresh. I haven’t followed up with her regarding her decision, but that debate spun off a thought in my head.
Late last year, I created a new blog for a new beginning, a new direction a new me! I have written stuff that I like, I don’t like, I will miss, tell and never kiss, but it lacks the “real sense of me” -- an idealistic dreamer and a story teller -- who in an impulsive spree opened her own book, opened a book as an ode to her life. It was real, honest and even brutal sometimes. Well, most of the times. But the people I spoke about, tarnished or plain pointed fingers at understood why I wrote them. It was personal but it wasn’t me taking things personally. Every time I feel like writing a heart rendering post I run back to my old one. The new one is a pretty dress. The old one is me, sitting in front of a mirror finishing up a long day’s work, mascara running down my cheek along with tears, after a performance worthy of a standing ovation.
Late last year, I created a new blog for a new beginning, a new direction a new me! I have written stuff that I like, I don’t like, I will miss, tell and never kiss, but it lacks the “real sense of me” -- an idealistic dreamer and a story teller -- who in an impulsive spree opened her own book, opened a book as an ode to her life. It was real, honest and even brutal sometimes. Well, most of the times. But the people I spoke about, tarnished or plain pointed fingers at understood why I wrote them. It was personal but it wasn’t me taking things personally. Every time I feel like writing a heart rendering post I run back to my old one. The new one is a pretty dress. The old one is me, sitting in front of a mirror finishing up a long day’s work, mascara running down my cheek along with tears, after a performance worthy of a standing ovation.
5 Scribbles:
It's beautiful...simply beautiful. And thank you. You understood what this means to me more than anyone could. And somehow it's the way I feel totally.
But somehow I don't know how to go back to the old one and pour my heart out at the moment and I feel stone cold and empty looking at the new pretty one...
How do I mend this because action I must take. It's been too long for me to let time change things.
i guess we grow less and less sure of ourselves as we grow old(er). it's like someone said, "i'm not young enough to know everything".
sigh.
Shit, This is strange. I havent even read the whole post! But I have just written about change. i got excited so I commented quickly. I'll read now. sorry.
wow! nothing close to what Ive written. i think I am gonna just give up writing. I agree with prude, its beautiful. Short and stabbing.
Me thinks- I couldnt believe that u wrote a similar post. i went to ure blog and I was like its the same thing!!! all of us think of change in different ways but its the same thing! :) and somethings dont seem to change! again, welcome back!
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