Sea and Sky

This blog has been silent for a while. I haven't written anything in a long time. One of the reasons was sheer laziness. Writing blog posts is hard work. It's harder than it sounds. Another reason was that I have written much in the past few months… just not on my blog. And that has taken a toll on my writing for this blog. After all, how much can one write? How much can one rant? How much can one spout? How much can one pout?

But the biggest reason why I think I haven't posted in a long time is that I haven't yet figured out my relationship and engagement with blogging. I don't see myself as much of a blogger. In fact I don't see myself as a blogger. I don't know how and why I got into it. Of course I like it. I have had some very interesting experiences on blogosphere, and met some interesting people here. But I don't feel like an "insider". Probably because I have never been able to figure out exactly what to write on this blog. I oscillate between thinking of this blog as a personal territory and an impersonal domain. I don't want this blog to be of my very personal life… I'm sure of that. I've written about feminist issues on this blog… thrown in a poem now and then… uploaded a picture once in a blue moon… and posted gibberish very frequently. I haven't figured out its genre… its niche… neither have I figured out if I want it to have a genre or a niche. Too much confusion, eh?

I have thought about shutting it down entirely, and contemplated a place in the cold storage too. I don't want to do that. No. I want to write. And of late, I've been feeling this renewed urge to scribble on this screen again. And I want to change the nature of this blog. Or rather I should say that I want this blog to have a more concrete and firm nature. And so I have decided to post reviews on it… reviews of books, articles, movies, art...

Wait a second, did I really just say that? Who am I? Some sophisticated art critic? Homo Sapiens Librarius? Photography connoisseur? None of them. Renaissance art goes over my head, and terms such as surrealism, cubism, impressionism and realism barely manage to clumsily stumble out of mouth, thwarting all my dreams of romancing with art effortlessly. I don't understand the theories and criticism of literature much either. I often read intelligent poetry that certifies my low poetry I.Q. beyond any reasonable doubt when I don't get it even in the fifteenth fiftieth attempt. I have often caught myself not being able to celebrate the craft of celebrated authors, poets, painters, musicians, movie directors, and other species of art creators. So no, I make no claims of being an expert and intellectual reviewer. In fact I make no claims of being a reviewer. I am just a viewer. And as I view, I feel, I interact, I respond, I emote, I struggle, I empathize, I lash out, I walk out, I cry, I laugh, I giggle, I sulk, I cheer, I boo… I interpret.

And that's what I want this blog to me now… my (naïve) interpretations of what I view. Of course I won't post regularly (as if anyone cares!). And frankly, these posts are more for myself than for anyone else you might read them. When I see some things, I want to get them out of my system. Hmm… but I cannot ever get them out of my system, now can I? Let me rephrase that sentence. When I come across some things, I want to talk about them. I want to say a few things out loud. I want to not just boo or cheer in the isolation of my living room (or kitchen, or stairs, or bathtub), but I want to let it hang out. Why? I don't know. I will not think about this question, because – (i) nobody has asked me this question, and (ii) I don't have an answer.

Post script:

Last year I attended a talk by Cherrie Moraga, a Chicana lesbian woman, poet, teacher, playwright and essayist, who told her story of becoming a mother in words similar to these:

In (insert a year from the early 90's here), I wrote about how I was never going to be a biological mother to anyone. A year later, I was pregnant! When I was asked about it, I said, "I changed my mind."

Human mind is a very elusive thing. It somersaults often. Who knows I just might change my mind about anything and everything I have written in this blog, and never get to writing (re)views. But then again, how does that matter?