In retrospect.

By the turn of the century, my blog and I were inseparable. No detail went unnoticed. No tear fell ignored. No kiss flew unwritten, in lyric or prose. By then writing had become my religion and blogging was the prayer I make after or before anything. I never got around to figuring out why I stopped blogging. Maybe I grew out of it. Safe answer. Maybe it just wasn't interesting enough. Some friends might get hurt. But somehow, somewhere along the way, blogging just lost its luster. For me at least.

Wasn't sure what exactly the reason is, but from multiple entries a day, my posts dwindled. First in number. Then in quality. I began to write less and share more. By sharing, I mean reposting, embedding, short of copying content other people have made that has in one way or another affected me. Somehow blogging for me began to evoke a certain sense of prayer that echoed pre-existing thoughts garnered by a collective consciousness that came to life online. It wasn't all about me anymore.

What used to be a very big part of my life started to take the backseat. Just as well. Everyone else seem to have caught on and the religion became a fad. At least to my understanding. Anything that becomes too popular just dies for me. And speaking of life, mine happened. Happens. And sometimes it happens so well that words can't contain it. Or sometimes what happens is just too precious to share or to make profound of for other people. Ultimately, blogging was not able contain what I thought it can help me understand. Life was getting too big to be put in words, lines, and entries. I couldn't write it all the time. Not all the time. Not all my time.

I was growing up. And it sometimes hurt.