Fourtyfied is Born

I never imagined I would put up a blog one day; never considered it, never entertained the thought. In fact, a professor of mine in graduate school, a fine, wonderful man, is convinced that bloggers are navel-gazers, presumptuous in their belief that others are even remotely interested in what they have to say--a fair assessment, I'd have to agree.

For the longest time, I've written only for myself, and in the past two years, as de facto exercise for school requirements, and then for the Philippine Star column Fortyfied. Writing for the column has brought much joy because it has given me a world outside the home to which I have been confined for the better part of my adult life as a housewife (a multitude of terms have been used to romanticize it but housewife--both a noun and an adjective in one--seems most suited to my purpose). The column speaks to men and of men--not that I know much about them; perhaps, I don't at all. But because my editor had assigned me the subject I am tied to it for better or for worse.

But what I treasure most is what I write for school, pieces that have opened doors both into myself and my surroundings, into many places I may have never reached without the writer's focus essential for coming up with honest work. I have been quite content with packing them away into large black file boxes after they had been graded, finding immense and quiet pleasure in knowing that pieces of me, which no one else knows of, lie in there. I have been asked time and again why I don't publish them and, always, I say that I write only for myself. "Is it fear?" they ask. It surely is! Fear of what? of being found out, of being judged, of the repercussions, of allowing people into my life when I have worked on keeping them away for as long as I can remember? All that, yes, and many more.

Another professor, a lady this time, said to me that there is no such thing as writing solely for oneself, and that we all write ultimately to be read. Another one, Mr. P, a truly inspiring figure, the most brilliant writer I have ever met, suggested blogging, where one's thoughts can be safe because of the anonymous persona that cyberspace affords all. I don't know if I believe that--that under the cloak of anonymity we can cocoon ourselves and our freedom of expression from the ways of the world, or that there even is such a thing as anonymity anymore. But I take his word for it and everyone else's who have encouraged me to do so. This, then, is an act of faith.