Since early of 2007 when I started blogging as a guest writer for notamissionary by Riorose and then creating “Flowers’ in January of 2009, I have been using blogging as a means of expressing myself as a foreigner in a foreign land, showing my photos (hopefully as they have improved), and as a means of talking about places I have traveled.
Lately I began to interact more in cyberspace. Looking at other’s blogs and photos, and reading their thoughts and making comments that do not really constitute conversation. It is like that game often played at New Year’s Eve parties where you attach your wish to a balloon and with the help of some hot air, send it up into space – will it land where it is valued or be found and entertain?
I have found that the more I look and read other blogs, the less I write on my own. My head has become full of questions and confusion, full of sadness and feelings of loss. I have been afraid to write about what is bothering me. Afraid that I would be read by this large group of cyber writers/thinkers, I would be found whiny and negative. Unpleasant. They all seem so bright and poetic, so talented. Their lives so full of family and fun. Their problems when mentioned seem to be real problems. Mine have become insignificant, superficial by comparison in my own mind.
I am exhausted by the effort. The effort to stand straight, to be in balance, to always see the world as a beautiful place. This is not natural. There are bad days, there is sadness, graffiti, trash, loss, hunger – why are my feelings less because they are mine? Because I live in a nice house with a beautiful view, and I take no pills for a major illness, because (pray) Camillo and my families are well and prospering, why can I not talk about what does bother me? Why is it not important that I feel thick and stiff, and hate the face hair that has taken over as I age? Why isn’t it important that I am not where I need to be to help with my mother and my granddaughter? Why isn’t important the I feel life ebbing away as I sit in this house on the hill? Why isn’t it important that I fear losing Camillo who is only 4 years younger than Luisa?
This past month I have missed my friend Luisa who passed last month. I miss her for many reasons, but the most because she was my sounding board. With real and immediate feedback about what I was saying. She was always without fail on my side. I did not need to be perfect in front of her, over the 20 years of our friendship she had heard it all. I have been told that she is in a better place now. We would like to think and believe that, but no one really knows, and for me having her here was the best place.
I think that I will no longer write comments on other blogs. Maybe I wont even visit them. I need to drop out. I need the feeling of being anonymous, so I can go back to writing out my thoughts as I feel them. It is my only release, my only way to blow away some of the cloud cover and have a chance once again feel like me.