I am tired of staring at the chicken curry - rice photo in my previous post and hence this post.
When I started writing , I wrote in sms language, then somebody pointed it out and I rectified .
I said that I won't call myself a writer because I don't want to sound like those "pseudo-intellectuals" . Heart of heart I wanted to be a la Bridget Jones, but sadly neither am I English nor do I have a Hugh Grant around.
Read other people's blogs , found quite a few of them silly and childish and still commented on them.
Even though I failed to understand what was so good in them that they got 50-60 comments..(though some perfectly good ones get that many too)
Comments :- something which drove us all at some or the other point. Someone's comment made me feel good , but then again , what does it matter , I should comment only if I like to not if I want that person to come back and read my blog.
This give-and-take everywhere is seriously too much to deal with...
I don't think I want to publish my posts in Facebook anymore .. the more you think about the people who are reading you, the more u write what they wanna read than what you really want to write.
and then of course , there's this constant problem of thoughts dwindling away.. you sit there to write something ,complete 2-3 paragraphs and then completely phase out .. and don't know how to end it ..
Most importantly, the people to whom I connected most emotionally in this blog world have left or are almost dormant, so what is there really? In all of it? Moreover, why should I put my life out there? people read, they forget, I read them and I forget too ..and yet I can't quit because there's some feel good thing in jotting down what you think , mostly because I wouldn't be able to tell it all to somebody.
And that's how this cookie crumbles , also, I am just going to go without any titles now .. they just spoil the whole laziness attitude I have here ,,,,,
- for the lack of words,
ciao
When I started writing , I wrote in sms language, then somebody pointed it out and I rectified .
I said that I won't call myself a writer because I don't want to sound like those "pseudo-intellectuals" . Heart of heart I wanted to be a la Bridget Jones, but sadly neither am I English nor do I have a Hugh Grant around.
Read other people's blogs , found quite a few of them silly and childish and still commented on them.
Even though I failed to understand what was so good in them that they got 50-60 comments..(though some perfectly good ones get that many too)
Comments :- something which drove us all at some or the other point. Someone's comment made me feel good , but then again , what does it matter , I should comment only if I like to not if I want that person to come back and read my blog.
This give-and-take everywhere is seriously too much to deal with...
I don't think I want to publish my posts in Facebook anymore .. the more you think about the people who are reading you, the more u write what they wanna read than what you really want to write.
and then of course , there's this constant problem of thoughts dwindling away.. you sit there to write something ,complete 2-3 paragraphs and then completely phase out .. and don't know how to end it ..
Most importantly, the people to whom I connected most emotionally in this blog world have left or are almost dormant, so what is there really? In all of it? Moreover, why should I put my life out there? people read, they forget, I read them and I forget too ..and yet I can't quit because there's some feel good thing in jotting down what you think , mostly because I wouldn't be able to tell it all to somebody.
And that's how this cookie crumbles , also, I am just going to go without any titles now .. they just spoil the whole laziness attitude I have here ,,,,,
- for the lack of words,
ciao
1 comment:
Yea Amy back with a post. Yes totally agree with you, whats in comments.They are only as important as you make them feel.
But yea thats the thrill of blogging of just seeing your thots in black and white, and its all that matters.you and your thoughts :)
Keep writing Amy
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