Date posted on January 19, 2006
I just finished reading Che’s blog entries recounting indelible memories of her high school and childhood days. She even mentioned she’s already working on her college list.I’ve been meaning to start a blog. More than anything, to practice writing (lalo na’t writer akong naturingan). After some time, nakakapurol din kasi na fiction at scripts at mga linya ng characters ang sinusulat mo. I tend to wonder if I can still coherently write my thoughts on paper, the way Doronila, de Quiros, and Vitug’s team’s articles make me nod in agreement while reading opinion pages. Whenever I start, I always end up censoring myself, trying hard to come up with an explosive first entry that will validate my skill. Obviously, that’s been self-defeating.

A lot of times, I find myself gauging myself, wondering how much of my potential I have exhausted. That never amounted to anything. But whenever I rediscover a memory, the way my friend’s entries made me hark back to my own, I always feel a sense of movement. Growth. It highlights all the more the distance I’ve traveled in time. And THAT always felt good. It tells me I’ve been somewhere and done something worth reminiscing. It doesn’t even matter how bad or good those times I’ve been through.

Now I understand why it is in remembering that one keeps himself anchored in humility.

When Che told me about her blog entries, I checked it out and realized that writing should be about you and your thoughts. To express and not impress. The only other blog I’ve tried reading before was another good friend’s, Rey, and I remember enjoying it precisely because it reflected exactly the kind of person Rey is – outrageous and funny. Without trying.

After resolving to write sans pretense, I decided to get it on finally. I guess I’m on the right track, considering I’m on my sixth paragraph. I figure I will stay on this track if I keep my entries more about what I think and less about what people might think. Still, I’m putting it out here in hopes of eliciting empathy from others. Memories are flitting, and sharing them through spoken or written stories parcels out the responsibility of remembering. After all, is there a better place to exist than in the hearts and memories of others? I am what I write and say. Not only am I the sum of my actions. I, too, am my words.

So now, I will write to remember. And be remembered.