Monday, August 13, 2007

Dead and dying.

I was going through my old blog the other day, reading some of the comments some of my previous regular readers had posted. They elicited contrasting reactions, either putting a smile on my face, or reminding me of the dark I was in when writing some of those older posts.

Due to a spurt of randomness, I decided to pay those readers a visit, just to tag their boards and to remind them I had moved to a different place. Hoping to invite them to come read and peruse through my writings once more.

It turned out to be a wholly depressing experience.

Many had... stopped. Stopped blogging, writing, digitally penning their thoughts and publishing their emotions online. And I realised I wasn't alone in considering 'retirement' from my voluntary profession. I may never know why so many of them had decided to discontinue their writing efforts, and it puts into context my own dithering over whether or not to quit.

I recall extracting myself from the notion that they were my readers, but real people with real lives, and very real responsibilities. And that for all their appreciation of my writing, and the awe they seemed to display at what I had written, I was, for better or worse, merely an abstraction to them. Merely a little footnote that would be considered when they came online, to be perused and appreciated for fleeting moments.

They would not need my insight to survive, nor my stories to entertain them all the time. That they would not need my advice to solve their problems, nor would they need my creativity to brighten up their lives.

I realised, how insignificant I am. And how little difference it would make if I were to indeed stop writing out my thoughts and feelings.

But I will go on. Because in the end, it is for me.