Why I Blog?

Here's a good issue to tackle: Why I enjoy blogging?

My blog is the maturation of something I have been doing since the age of 12. At that age, I had great fun committing myself to the task of writing a diary: An A5 page every day without fail. I continued this right up to the age of 16, when I still carried on, but on a less frequent basis. In the year leading up to my blog, I had resurrected my diary writing which had stopped altogether around the same time I lost my faith in God.

I still have all these diaries in my possession. Perusing them now brings back many memories, which would otherwise have been consigned to an oblivion of obscurity. Some things may best be left forgotten, but at least I can see how much I have matured and grown over the years.

Diary writing has been very therapeutic for me. During the difficult years of adolescence, it was a way of ordering my thoughts and making sense of my life. A daily reflection. It is this sort of reflection which I should really endeavour to continue in the traditional form of examining my conscience before God each night, and making new confessions and resolutions each evening in a spirit of contrition.

During the last months, my diary writing has petered out, and instead I have channelled my energies into writing this blog. This was a natural progression because I was writing less about the daily mundane, and more about my reflections and thoughts. I always find this sort of writing the most rewarding. My blog has become less frequent due to new changes and pressures; what's certain is that it will continue as long I derive this great benefit from it, and I'm sure I will find an equilibrium soon enough. I will leave this post with a poem about diary writing, which I wrote in March 1999:

Each and every single page

Tells the story of a mysterious age.

Turning point: Boy into man
All part of God’s overall plan.
Future is bright, that much is clear
But only if I succeed year after year.
The door out of grief will soon open wide
As I learn how to deal with a brother who’s died.

The memories: with me till the end of time
Locked away in a diary which is all mine.