Blogger templates suck. I didn't want to begin my first post on this note, but after spending an hour wondering which of those would do most justice to my canvas. Didn't have much luck, as you see. I ended up choosing pure white. I need a better template and I know exactly what I want, but I will ruminate on it later.

I used to be against anonymity. I don't see the point in revealing your soul on a blog or an online diary and not disclosing your identity. I've used to journal, I was among the first people in my circle of friends to ever have an online diary on diaryland. But sometime between realizing the futility of it and the strange, familarity it encompasses- I stopped journaling altogether.

Between wanting people to read about my vacillating emotions and fiercely securing my privacy to my thoughts, I still remain undecided about opening the inner-workings of my mind and exposing my insecurities to the anonymous readers. More so about being anonymous myself.

I wondered why I changed.. I wondered why and how diary-ing became passe for me.
I think.. sometimes when we write.. it is easy to get carried away. esp. when we write about things that our close to our hearts and that matter to us. And from that writing, a vendetta emerges... things that aren't really there come to life and everything that's abstract and misty in our head, heart and mind-- is forever imprinted on your future.

Which is why I stopped writing in my diary, I think.. my mind was filled with...crazy thoughts that when considered- had no foundations or mass. yes. my fears, my insecurities...my happiness. I dont know.. I guess somewhere when writing for 5 years, I saw the simple truth in life and that is just one, nothing lasts. and what lasts, is not meant to be questioned or debated.

I'd be happy one day.. sad the next.. frustrated... and I'd write about it. but when I'd go read it-- it wouldn't make sense... I didn't really care. and then I thought, what was the point of creating something I didn't care about, something that wasn't beautiful and something that wouldn't make sense to me a few years down.
Sometimes I used to write to catalog my memories. Everything from the color of shirt my crush wore to the fun-evenings I spent with my friends. When I read those entries again, sometimes they sparked the faint remnants of that memory, sometimes they bought it to life and sometimes, just blanked out.

But through all the years of my journalling, I've realized one thing. What we remember most, are the people and days when we're the happiest. Those memories stay with us even if we don't chronicle them or print them event to event, word to word on paper. The glow, the aura of smiles and festivity and loud laughter emanates long after we have forgotten what made us happy in the first place.

It's the same reason why I learnt that maybe some of the best moments of our life aren't meant to be preserved forever on lucid photographic film.

Do I regret that I cannot bring myself to write with such fervor and passion? Yes and No. I regret that I have lost the ability to talk about my life and my emotions with total abandon. But I think there may be a deeper reason to this. Love and disappointment, are the two things humans feel strongly and respond to. Love in my life now is him. What I share with him, I like it to remain between me and him, which is strange becoz in my earlier exploits with love- I'd literally share every single detail online. So now when I'm hurt in love, I try not to journal about it because I care too much about him to let others judge or be privy to what goes on between me and him. Even the precious moments, mean so much to me that sharing them would make them lose their....umm, sharing them would tinge the percious-ness. you get it?

About my disappointments-- writing about them provided me temporary relief. He taught me to probe myself, and seek out the relief from within, without resorting to writing.
I don't know.... there are so many reasons why and why not. I thought I wouldn't return to active journalling for a while, but now I have. After a sprinkled two year haitus.

About reasons for coming back - I missed writing. And I missed people reading my writing. Who ever tells you that they write in secret is lying because everyone wants their words to be read. Just like a painter wants his work to be seen and admired.. a dance wants to be appreciated... a musician wants us to listen... I want to be read.

On that note, welcome! Welcome to CityLights/NeonNights.