I remember when I first started blogging. I didn’t know what to write, I just knew I wanted to write. I’ve been writing for years, and years. It was how I expressed myself, besides photography. I love sitting at my laptop and watching my finger fly over the keyboard and these little symbols (letters) pop up and create a story, a journey.
When I started my blog (I don’t know how many years ago), I wanted to be heard. I wanted to talk about stuff that’s relatable. Something.
Then I came across this blog: Random Ramblings
And it was like something clicked. These posts about daily life’s struggles. These posts about someone who was going through life just as cluelessly as I was. These posts that had deeper meaning even without being all philosophical. I was astonished.
I started writing about my life, my past, my ideas….me.
I wrote about things that happened in my life, things that mattered to me, things that meant something to me, and hoped that someone else would see things in my perspective as well and understand where I was coming from. I hoped to get followers. I hoped to get likes. I wanted to know I was being heard.
I write. I blog. I rant. I vent. I tell stories. I imagine ideas. I write.
Despite whether I get likes or the number of followers on my blog increases, I know my words are out there. I know my ideas are out in the open. I, myself, am getting heard.
And that’s all that matters. I wanted to be heard. I am.