Expression Limitations

It may be an experience that is not unique to me but is familiar to all bloggers: some of my family/friends who read my blog regularly tend to think that what I write and publish is everything that’s going on and my day, or my life, is reduced to five paragraphs. I receive text or YM messages asking me if I’m ok and then I go, “Of course I’m ok, and thanks for asking, but may I know why you asked?” And then I get this reply: “That’s good to hear, because I was concerned after reading your blog.”

My memory is not as sharp as it used to be so I do tend to forget what I wrote about passionately only a few days before. Plus, I am a woman with hormones that lead to mood swings. There’s a time in the month, which lasts for about a week, when I look at the world with rose-colored spectacles. The stars are aligned, there is hope all around, and I am at peace. A week later I could look at the same world with fear and anxiety. I could notice all the problems while driving from my house to the office and be affected and made insecure by all the things people say. This is brought about by my very nature as a woman, and hopefully is not a sign of manic-depressive behavior or multiple personality disorder. I’d like to think that it’s normal.

Since it is published on the world wide web, read by strangers and friends alike, I edit what I post on this blog. There are thousands of topics that I try to avoid, as dictated by prudence and propriety. I know you readers can find news, tips, opinions, photos, reports, etc. in other, more reputable websites. I just write here about things that are going on in my head or my heart that I think would be of interest to you, either because you had gone through something similar in life, or because you would be entertained by the mistakes I so gladly commit day after day. If I have a grudge against anyone, I go to the proper forum for that. I have learned to withhold names to protect identities. I have learned to withhold sharings altogether if they would not be upbuilding about other people. I have held back from lashing out entries such as "The Lies That Married Men Make" because I do not want to offend anyone, especially my friends, by my views on marriage, which is both a Sacrament and a contract (a special contract, in fact), and how the enemy has twisted it to rob it of its very essence. Maybe, at the proper time, I could be led to write about such topics. (I am free for consultation on the matter, however. Just email me.)

Finally, I have the greatest difficulty in expressing happiness. I know I should write about God’s love and its manifestations but when things are okay, the words don’t flow as freely as when they’re driving me crazy. Probably, at the back of my head I’m afraid to write something that won’t hold true the day after. I’m scared of being happy, of the me “I yearn to be but fear to know”, as the song "God of Silence" says.

Like tonight, for example. I am happy. I have been so since yesterday, which was my day off, it being a Monday. I was able to rest, clean my room, do my laundry, write in my prayer journal, hear Mass, see a dear friend whom I’ve missed, have dinner with my barkada, then have coffee with one of my oldest friends, yes, all in one beautiful day. I even received belated Christmas gifts. A perfume I had been staring at for so long in the store racks was given to me, an ex-deal for a writing/editing job that I did, true, but still I didn’t ask for it so it was a delight to receive it. It’s Romance by Ralph Lauren. The color, packaging and scent all contributed to my daydreaming of owning one someday, but since I couldn’t afford it, I just waited for it. Now, I have a 100mL bottle of it. I am happy.

One of my best friends is getting married this year. Having waited with her, I am happy for her. But I can't write about it in detail as their parents have yet to find out that they are engaged!

And I love my job. I love waking up and looking forward to what the day would bring. I love walking into the office and greeting my officemates. I love being of help. My work makes sense right now.

There are other things, and people, that I love and who make me happy. I’m sorry if I don’t write about them as often. I will try to. For now, help me pray that I hold on to this happiness for a little while longer. It’s a good feeling.