When I look back at my life, I feel that if I really wanted, I could be a good blogger. My world turns upside down in a incredibly speedy rate, enough to entertain the most hardcore of Big Brother fans - but I hesitate. I keep asking myself, "What's the point of telling the world what I'm going through? Why would I give them the freedom to build on judgment and prejudice and whatever negative feelings people feel towards other people, based on what I choose to write about or photograph? Am I an exhibitionist? Am I expecting people's approval? Why do I need it anyway?"
Since I chose to write a blog back in 2001, I walk around carrying those questions on my shoulders like a heavy block of stone. I generally forget the answers, until I find a quote in a book or a website that reminds me why humans in general need to document life. As Isabel Allende, that blessed Chilean writer, said, it is because it helps us remember what happened. Because memories are the thread that keeps the flimsy, stubborn fabric of our souls together, and if we can't remember things it is as if they've never happened. Writing (photographing, painting, creating) helps us remember, and through remembering the events of our life, we are able to live twice.
Also: through writing and art we find a way to arrange the pieces of a giant puzzle in a way that we can understand, that makes sense to us. Life becomes easier.
I'm not saying writing a blog is a form of art, but, just the same, it bears all those qualities attached to nobler forms of writing like novels and memoirs. It helps me build memories, it helps me remember, it helps me make sense and understand. And most of all, it helps me live twice under the watchful eyes of the world.