I remember when blogs were the hot thing in seventh grade for you to pour your melancholy into and for your dearest friends or strangers (or just you) to read. Entries were often long winded and punctuation missing in important sentences, which reduced emphatic moments to mindless dribble. Sympathetic commentators would provide reassurance that your teenage angst was just that, and others would tell you to pick yourself up off the keyboard and be more productive with life.
Fast forward seven years later when everyone has rediscovered the blog; so much so that the big corporate companies are using them to inform and persuade consumers. We now use it as a vehicle to express our discontent with things in short and terse pieces. And instead of being filed away in the Internet archives, they are highly read and we praise the writer for their voice.
And given that I already have a blog in which I voice my opinions or document events I attend, there is the element of my personal life that is missing. Quite funny that you would ask me why I would not keep my personal life, well, “personal.” I’ve never been one to own a journal in which I physically write; I like being able to see clearly what I’m writing (yes, that does mean in a sans-serif and not messy font). Especially with my moving to France for the next year (yet again), I suppose that this would be an opportunity to ground myself with what connections I have made. I have no where to really put my photos or highlights of anything, aside form the hard drive of the computer. I’m not one to upload fifty albums onto Facebook and declare it “the best memory until we go on another trip.”
And so I suppose that I will condense such into this space. In a way, I found myself wanting to write more so that there is always some substance to my posts on my other blog and so I’ve never truly had the space to share the silly or cool things that I’ve found (the type of things that you would use a tumblr for).
Image via University of Toronto