Monday, March 24, 2014

Blogging is not for Sissies: Original piece by susie Shin

It turns out blogging is not for sissies and this topic is also not original. At all. I somehow wanted to see if anyone else thought this out, and they have. Many "theys" have written about it and that gave me settled reassurance that I'm not the only sissy thinking this, and it really is a thing! It also made me feel like I really have no original thought and everything I must write about, other people have  written about too. I never thought I was F. Scott Fitzgerald, but I must have thought I've had some creative thought or made some obscure observation about life! But alas... I have this eerie and disappointing feeling that I have not. Unless it's my own life experience, but that's not even unique! Human history spanning 200,000 years of life on earth, I am convinced this is fact. People have childhoods, dysfunctional ones, parents, good ones and bad ones, moved, gone to college, been kissed for the first time, have had sex for the first time, married, have had a loss, gotten nervous for first day of school, job, motherhood. Those things are not unique to me and my perspective and feelings aren't either. You don't know how many people have come to me after reading a blog entry and confessed, 'I feel exactly the way you do'. I don't think this is the brave part. It doesn't require bravery to put on public forum about things people would nod in agreement over, but it's the things that scare them, worry them, cock their head like a puppy with squinted eyes, surveying you to make sure you're not the love child of licentiousness, indulgence and evil.

Blogging is not for sissies, here at this blog address at least, is that I have to be completely honest about what I feel and see. If I'm going to write about it, I need to write honestly and that means there will be people looking at me differently, judging me, worrying for me and themselves. I think that's what made writers so manic and drunk on their vices, like Sylvia Plath and Ernest Hemingway, or maybe...they were manics and drunks and that's what made them great writers. Perhaps, they need written language because all that they felt and saw needed some kind of concrete way of staying, or else every moment and inclination will pass, only leaving a thin and worn photograph in our minds eye. They had to give fully over to their emotions, passions, angst and pain, to lose themselves to their words and giving it all away for others to applaud over and often looked down upon.

This is why blogging is not for sissies...not to me at least...I give it all away in that one specific topic and fleeting thought. Emotions are fleeting, but they have a way of amounting in my heart, growing heavier and festering to stink. It overflows into blind anger and dizzying sadness, words from my mouth become bitter and acidic, but words from my fingers explain and process, plead and heal. So this is why I write, even if I'm a sissy in so many other ways, I have no choice to write because I'm bound to it and need it. No matter how long I brush it away, I come back here...to my blinking cursor.

Sunday, March 23, 2014

Dip

There once was a time I blogged almost every day, and it seemed, words would just fall out the ends of my finger tips. Whatever I thought and felt, ones fleeting and passing by, ones that were stuck and everlasting, I wrote them all to see. Well, it was here for the reading if there were anyone actually reading my blog entries any more. I sit down to write .... and .... the classic scene in any writing T.V. show or movie will show when there is nothing to write and nothing coming to a writer, the cursor just blinks on a white abyss, just waiting and waiting.

It's not that I don't have any feelings or though left, but I don't feel vulnerable any more, and not only that, I don't feel brave any more. I think more to the latter, I DO feel awfully vulnerable and emotions rumbling just beneath the surface, but I don't feel confident enough to say, "This is how I feel right now, I express myself best and brings all the wild rumbling to an orderly tremble, when I write things down." And also, "If you don't like it, leave it. Don't expect an apology." But I am apologizing, I am too scared to write down how I've been feeling and what I really think about motherhood, wife-hood and being a girl trapped in her near approaching 40 year old life-hood. I really do want to, no, need to hash it all out in writing but somehow it's not satisfying unless it's publicly published. Then I know I'm committed to what I've just written and I really need to think about my words, bringing all this rumbling to light where it can be exposed and banished. Like airing out the stale air of my inner chambers of my thoughts because it hasn't smelled the outside air in a long time.  Privacy is kind of like when you're thinking all in your head without input from the outside world.

Maybe this entry is dipping my toes in a pool.  It wont warm up the temperature any and the shock of jumping in a reservoir of frigid water inevitably awaits...but the water begins to feel warmer once you tread some. At least, most of the time.