001: Reasons

A little more than three months ago I started a blog thinking that I…may perhaps…have some interesting points of view worth sharing. Okay, truth be told, I’m hardly confident the world would find my words worthwhile; and gawd forbid, the people would label me tedious. But of course even that, even such a thought, is a luxury, because simply put, the odds are against me: Technorati reports that a new blog pops up every 4.7 seconds! For anyone to discover my site, read the words, return another day, and…gasp…share with their friends how wonderful my blog is, for someone to do all that for me, would be a dream come true. Yes, deep inside (and this is the only time I’ll ever admit to feeling this way) I am an attention-seeking, love-desiring whore: a strong readership, a fanatical following? yes, please, thank you, and may I have some more? I’d love to have a spotlight shine down on me, to bask in the warmth of a thundering applause.

But alas, pragmatic realism conquers unbridled idealism. So I dive into the ocean made cold under the winter’s sun, tempering my expectation, reminding myself that this little blog of mine ought to be, shall be, no, it must be, just for me. It is a baptism of sort. Underneath, engulfed by the cold, I am humbled, knowing that I live in an Age when there is a blogosphere, a medium where a life, peeled away of its many layers—a layer of hopes and dreams; of desires and wants; of triumphs and victories; of failures and defeats; of losses and heartaches; of righteous indignation and shameful contrition; of past, present, and future; of hate and love; and of heaven and hell—a life reveals its naked soul. My soul can lay naked—as I emerge from the icy depth, I'm reminded of Reinaldo Arenas who, in his memoir, wrote about the “splendor of (his) life;” my soul can stand naked—as I tread on the sandy beach leaving behind footprints that tide will wash away, I am determined to root myself into permanence, writing the splendor of my life. This is for me. This is to ingrain in me a joy that celebrates my heart beating, my lungs expanding and contracting, my existence, my life; this is to implant in me a wisdom that teaches, even though I am allotted only an infinitesimal space in this vast universe of ours, even though I may affect no one, even though I feel alone and insignificant, my life is a gift, I live, and it is good.