I find it unsettling when someone mentions my blog to me. It's alright, I supposed if they make comments about it: "it's nice" "it's emo" "you read a lot" "you're so sentimental" (yes I received those comments) but when it comes to the more personal side of my blog, "what is it about?" "was it about this?" and all a sudden, I catch myself squirming, avoiding eye contact and get feverishly uncomfortable. Well, you guessed it but really, is it necessary to directly ask me that.
But you blogged about it.
Uh, I can see that. Though I never once blog about events word by word, I'm not writing a report; it's more of how I felt, thought and wondered at that precise moment. The gist of the event is there but it's not subtle because that's not what important. I always had a perception that what's really important is your state of mind at that time. That quivering or burst of emotions; twitching or knotting of the wires in your head, those little annoying, aching or precious, delightful things which carry the weight of the story and make up what it is.
So when someone asks me if I'm referring to this person or regarding that occurred, I'll usually say "Don't talk about my blog." Sometimes I catch the offended look on their faces but most of time, they'll nod and keep quiet, probably thinking that I'm being illogical since it's on the internet. But that's one thing about me, I know that you're reading this right now, for this short span of time I've allowed you to peep into a window of my house and after that, I'll close the blinds. If you see me on the streets or in class, all you will see is bricks of walls.
You may or may not understand of what I've wrote but that's the truth.