A Bubble in Cyberspace

I did enjoy writing here. I think every beginning is enjoyable. But then, I felt like everything I wrote was missing something. I felt and I still feel like they are quite static and I am not a static person. I cannot really define what is missing. I think I only like the Personal part of what I wrote. I believe I like the first two pieces I wrote in that section because they are quite simple and express a feeling I have. The rest of my writing feels empty. Or like a void that is filled with stuff but still wants more. Since I could not find out what was missing, I stopped writing for a while although I have quite a few things I want to review and just post here.

Now this makes me think. Is there a point in writing here? Is there a point in having a blog? I am not interested in money and I cannot commit myself to something I like with the intention of wanting to make money in the long term. I guess I would turn out frustrated. So, money is not at all the point of me having a blog. I write because I enjoy it. Nothing else. Nothing else for now at least. 

I read A Tale for a Time Being by Ruth Ozeki then. Nao, the character there, also kept a blog but she stopped sharing stuff because she said something along the lines of it is sad seeing my writings all alone floating in cyberspace.

“It made me sad when I caught myself pretending that everybody out there in cyberspace cared about what I thought, when really nobody gives a shit. And when I multiplied that sad feeling by all the millions of people in their lonely little rooms, furiously writing and posting to their lonely little pages that nobody has time to read because they’re all so busy writing and posting, it kind of broke my heart.” 

A Tale for the Time Being – Ruth Ozeki

I felt bad reading this because it is true. I can see it in myself. I tried to go to a few blogs and read what they wrote and I got so bored. I skipped. I hypocritically liked their post, which I will not do again unless I truly read it and like it. Even if the person writes something good, I would just be lazy to read it if it is too long. I guess I am not interested in knowing the thoughts of that person, unless his thoughts are printed and sold at a library and the title seems interesting enough. I guess I am not really interested in knowing the thoughts of people I do not know in cyberspace when I cannot really discuss things or interact with them. I am lazy to comment and I do not want to debate online. I would only be interested in reading a 2000 words post on whatever if I have a crush on that person or if I know the person in real life and they asked me to do it or simply out of curiosity when they told me about their blog. If I do not like what they wrote, I will again skip it or simply stop finding them cool (You mean judgmental thing!) or just read it as a chore. So, I guess that is how others act with my blog too. I am here writing and writing and I am not reading anyone’s articles because I am concerned on writing only. It is indeed sad.

I really do not understand why am I writing. Is there a purpose? I claim that I do not care if no one reads it because I am writing for myself, but am I really? I remember a conversation I had with a friend once. She saw me writing in my diary and when I told her that I do not want others to read it, she said that there is a hidden feeling in all of us who write diaries that hopes someone will read it and like us. If we would not have this feeling, then why would we write it when we already have it in our head? Now, I can argue here that I am writing because I want to organize my thoughts. When I think, I usually either forget them after a time or simply never refine them or properly create a thought. Writing is like organizing your drawer of thoughts. Why do we bother with organizing thoughts? I do not know. I guess it provides a temporary solace? It seems like your thoughts did not get lost in between all those sparks of electricity in your brain, but are saved somewhere, outside of your vulnerable skull?

Now, writing is art. But is it really art if it is not shared?

I like art and I like writing. Should I share it? The point is I do not know for whom am I writing. What am I expecting? Nao, the girl in the book I mentioned above, writes a diary and lets it in the ocean where somebody finds it. Nao wrote there that she did so because this way, only one individual may potentially find it. She says if the one who finds it is a male, she hopes he will think she is cute and smart and something else I forgot. If a woman finds it, it is also okay but she hopes she will not be revolted at what she did write and will find in her a friend. And here I think. Are we all writing for a certain individual? Are we all writing for that perfect person who understands our every thought and will find us nice and cool and smart and everything good? I wonder for whom authors write for. I mean to say famous authors or philosophers. Did they simply want to share their world or is it money or is it that they are writing for someone too? Moreover, I feel contaminated when I share. I feel like I am being influenced by what others may want me to think or read by me.

Now, I started reading Snow Country by Yasunari Kawabata. The girl here writes diaries and she also keeps a notebook where she writes the title of every book she has ever read and a short summary.

“But even more than her diary, Shimamura was surprised at her statement that she had carefully cataloged every novel and short story she had read since she was fifteen or sixteen. The record already filled ten notebooks.

“You write down your criticisms, do you?”

“I could never do anything like that. I just write down the author and the characters and how they are related to each other. That is about all.”

“But what good does it do?”

“None at all.”

“A waste of effort.”

“A complete waste of effort,” she answered brightly, as though the admission meant little to her. She gazed solemnly at Shimamura, however.

A complete waste of effort. For some reason Shimamura wanted to stress the point. But, drawn to her at that moment, he felt a quiet like the voice of the rain flow over him. He knew well enough that for her it was in fact no waste of effort, but somehow the final determination that it had the effect of distilling and purifying the woman’s existence.” 

Snow Country – Yasunari Kawabata

I love this part because it makes me feel like if I like writing, then I should simply keep writing even if it is a complete waste of effort for others and nobody is reading it out there in cyberspace. This is why I decided to share thoughts however they come. I will not aim to refine them. I will not care if they are too long or too scattered. Now I guess I do want it to be read by people since if not, I could just write in my notebook and not in a blog. But I want them to read these for real or not read them at all. I am wanting too much from the world I guess, so I will just do whatever I feel like doing. I may review things in my own simplistic way or post scenes from my favorite movies and I know I will feel like something is missing from them but what to do. I will also write thoughts of what I think of the world and I will try to keep my urge of not editing it times and times again due to a change in thought. I will not look at those statistics of who visited my page and how many people liked it. To hell with it! Just let me write without thinking of the purpose. I know my way or writing may seem to diary-ish, but this is my unrefined writing and do not influence me. Eh. I guess I will stop looking for people to critize my blog because I am not writing creative pieces here. I am just writing.

Now here is a photo by one of my favorite photographers (Instagram mild.moon).

Click on picture to go to their Instagram page (mild.moon)

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