Some say that in revisiting an old hobby, you’d never know what to expect. It could be scary, especially if you haven’t done it for quite a while and you’re afraid to mess it up or not follow through; it could be therapeutic, if you’re undergoing a lot of stress lately. It could also be overwhelming, if you’re trying too much or too hard; or it could be a re-discovery of yourself when you think or realize you don’t know where you’re headed.

When I was a kid, I loved reading. From the 15 volumes of “Charlie Brown’s ‘Cyclopedia” and the entire 1988 edition of World Book Encyclopedia, to Norton Juster’s “The Phantom Tollbooth” and the “Choose Your Own Adventure” series, reading fueled my imagination. which is as vivid today as it was back then. But as I grew older, reading stories told by other people started to lose its luster. The excitement is still there; but for some reason, reading for me had become more of a way to pass the time idly. I still do read from time to time, but not as much as way back then. I tried to revive reading some years ago. I got the first four books of “Game of Thrones” but never got halfway through the first one. Same with Roland Lazenby’s “Michael Jordan: The Life” (which was actually a gift). It just wasn’t the same.

As I slowly started to lose interest in reading, I tried to find something else to fill the void. By then, I was in college but had no idea where to start. I was always shy around other people during my growing up years (and sometimes, even up until now). I remember one time during an English class when I was called to recite about how we spent our semestral break, I couldn’t get a single word out. I mean, I knew what to say, I just couldn’t put together the words. We were then told to write it down, and I was able to fill an entire sheet of yellow pad paper in minutes. Since then, in answering questions on tests and exams that require an essay, I would almost always lack space in writing them; not to mention running out of time. I then initially thought that I found something I may be good at: writing a paper based on research and explaining material we were asked to read. And that slowly became something I was looking forward to.

I never thought of doing creative writing… until I fell in love. I started writing poems. Of course they were disgustingly cheesy since I was exploring putting unabashed, flying-on-cloud-nine emotions into a literary piece that was trying to make her heart flutter. Yet ironically, what kicked my creative writing into overdrive was when I got my heart broken for the first time, I wrote poem after poem about how I loved her, and the misery I felt in losing her. Some of my friends were able to read those, and the feedback I got was surprisingly positive. They never thought I was capable of poetry. So I continued to write and write. Some of those are immortalized on this blog, you just have to dig deep and find them. But there are those that may have been entirely lost since I wasn’t able to keep a copy of them, especially the first few ones (ugh, damn it).

As I started my professional career, my poetry-writing started to decline. Although I’d still write here and there, I then thought, “what’s next?” The idea of having a journal wasn’t really that appealing to me since at that time, it was an unwritten rule or requirement that you have to write something on a daily basis if you do decide to have one (plus the fact that having a physical journal at home containing your unguarded feelings is not entirely safe from your parents). The internet age was just starting at that time, and little did I know what that had in store for me. It was around early 2004 when the notion of having an online journal hit me. I didn’t know much about going online (okay, except for Friendster), but having a personal computer at home suddenly made me realize that I can digitally save whatever I write since the folks don’t know much about accessing files on a computer. So I started to write based on what I felt at that time. I almost always had no drafts, nor made edits along the way or before I published them; I wrote about topics and subjects free flowingly as they came to mind. I also wrote poems, trying to see if I still can do so. Again, some of them–if not most–are published here.

Since then, I’ve had several incarnations of my blog. Twitter and Facebook introduced me to micro-blogging which then became more effective for me, so I found myself slowly ditching the long-form of blogging. I became so active in Facebook posting whatever comes to mind. From politics, to what I was doing at that moment; to interview (horror) stories and current events. I “quit” Facebook in 2016 after another heartbreak, and, looking back at it now, I’m thankful I did. What started as a social media break eventually turned to a sabbatical, in which stepping away made me see how the world has changed dramatically since that year. And though I had several dances and skirmishes with so-called affairs of the heart since then, it never really rekindled my passion for writing. The few entries I’ve had over the last five years are testament to an attempt to reignite that old passion I had. Some of them are really bad, but I prefer not to delete them just to make me see where I was during those times. I have no regrets posting them (nor have any regrets about anything in my life), since they still came from deep inside. And for me, that’s the most important thing in expressing yourself. Being brutally honest, if need be.

So here I am again. Full circle. Again. I’ve said on previous entries that I’d be posting more often, but end up not doing so. I won’t make that same promise; but the one thing I can do is, whenever I can, to post from the heart… or whatever you call this thing that’s pumping blood through my veins. All I know is that I’m currently going through something. And writing about it may be a form of therapy. When you’re caught in between something you know and something you feel and they are on the opposite sides of the spectrum, but they’re both right, you have one big clusterfuck on your hands. Or maybe it’s just me being a Gemini: having that little angel and devil on my shoulder constantly arguing about who and what’s right. At least I’m writing about it. Or at least some semblance of it. For now, this would have to do.

And as I down my final shot of whisky in concluding this journal entry, I raise this toast that I heard being said somewhere before: “to unspoken words of affection that continue to keep you anchored down, may they one day be set free to discover the possibilities of happiness, or forever be chained in the name of keeping the peace.” Whatever that means.

Good to see you, old friend. Let’s try to make this a regular thing, shall we? Starting with this one.

Happy Easter, everyone.