A smoking gun
Personal blogs are generally so boring, I hardly read them, my own being no exception. The trail left behind by the forgotten posts of Deepanjan Nag’s Magnum Opus has sometimes landed me in serious trouble and I’ve been left ruing the fateful moment when I decided to test the murky waters of web logging. To be honest, I’m more grateful than rueful, but that doesn’t discount moments of deep anguish I’ve suffered for being proverbially BIG-mouthed while blogging.
More than the trail, it’s the individual posts that are to blame for heartburns. Unfortunately, it’s sometimes impossible to give the whole picture, often it’s just an aspect that gets projected. When taken out of context, the impression painted is completely misrepresentative of the original thought. The reader isn’t at fault, but the realization that posts come with this innate handicap shouldn’t be lost on him. Some details are deliberately jettisoned to avoid chronicling the immensely painful moments I’ve lived through, which, I’m sad to say, I’ve had more than a fair share of.
Blogging has been a huge solace, especially when Dad passed away and I had no one to turn to. I felt trapped in a dark dungeon with writing being my only way of expression.I shared thought that I needed to and some that I didn’t. When I am referred to posts reflecting nothing but supreme moments of imbecility, I can hardly believe my eyes. Was it really me, I think. Therein lies the beauty of blogging – it’s an entrapment of ephemeral thoughts preserved for later. With time, well written personal blogs end up capturing a whole gamut of emotional upheavals – a treasure trove beyond compare. The hazards, though, are more immediate and come with a heavy price. With my frugal living, I’m not sure how far I can afford it.
This blog will end one day, perhaps long before my own time is up.