The megaphone

Sometimes when I write a post in this blog, it feels as if I'm talking to no one. That I'm just a small squeak amongst the thundering voices around me.

It's red. I like red.

Sometimes I miss the activity. The buzz of comments around my posts, the countless eyes that read my thoughts and my cryptic messages. I was quite the popular kid when I was in elementary, so I took this for granted. Because everyone had their eyes on me. Because in the same school where I studied, my mom was a teacher. Because I was favored, studied, liked, investigated. Every move I make is observed.

The attention was all mine.

And now, here I am, writing to a blog that anyone barely notices. Like in the real world, my voice is a dot in the myriad dots that punctuate the internet. A small contributor to the vast knowledge of society, the massive archive of human thoughs and feelings, all within the bits and bytes of the digital world.

But maybe then I liked the solace. Maybe, I liked how only I can read my blogs, that it just serves as a personal archive of my own thoughts, unblemished by the pressure of pleasing my audience everytime I click Publish. That in my own little space on the internet, I could be me.

Then I shrug all these thoughts, and think, Whether my blog is popular or not, I still have trouble expressing my feelings plain and bare on the internet, anyway. That I still hide my thoughts in cryptic forms, that I still take pleasure in bewildering my readers so as for them not to have an actual glimpse of what I'm talking about.

Cucumbers.

Good luck finding the meaning behind that. In the end, it doesn't matter how popular or unpopular I am, it's whether or not I trust anyone with my thoughts that matter.

Pizza.