Eulogy
Years ago, when this blog was updated almost daily, I've written its last post and kept it locked up in the draft folder - waiting for the day when it would see the light of day (if ever). Well, for all intents and purposes that day has come - this blog is officially over. It has been so for a while; I've just been rather unwilling to come in to shut down the lights and lock the door. It has to be done, though, and the end of the year is as good a moment as any other. So below, in a manner of a long good-bye, the eulogy written so long ago, with minor edits:
Of all the mementos I've ever created, no one holds much as much power as this very blog. It was the silent board of my life for the last seven years. It was the epilogue of my previous life, and sometimes it even went further back, overlooking moments lost in time and space. It opened windows to the future, or to a possible future that sometimes became present, and sometimes became nothing. It witnessed my downfall. Several times. It watched me raise again. It scared others. It scared myself. Reading today what I've written over the last years would kill me faster than all the cigarrettes I've ever smoked. Writing it today kills me faster than a bullet would. Writing it tomorrow would cast me back into the shadows. But it also gave me life. It gave me life everytime I wrote black words over the white background. It renewed me whenever I saw my inner thoughts being shaped into my own words, into a quote of genious said by someone else, into a song I could never sing myself. I was destroyed and made anew by its mirrored words, by the way it spoke only to myself, no matter in whom I was thinking about. I wrote a while ago that I cannot cry, remembering that in the last ten years I was able to do it only three times - one for happiness, one for despair, one for pure, unbridled wrath. Never for sadness. I was wrong though. I can. Not liquid, salty tears, but drops shaped like words. This space is full of them.
Seven years of people coming into my life. Of people leaving it, some with a trace, others without it. Of change. Of smiles. Of deception. Of cruelty. Of anger. Of lies. Of truths. Of love. Of hate. Of illusions. Of mistakes. Of everything that made my own life during this time, in a way only I can understand completely (if even I can). These pages are perhaps the best autobiography I could ever write of those years. I shared it first with myself, and then with everyone else willing to read it. This blog would now be going into its eight year, and it's time for me to put an end to it. For those of you who came here over the last years, whether I knew you or not, whether you were a friend or a foe, whether you were a regular anonymous watcher or a random passer-by - thank you.
Of all the mementos I've ever created, no one holds much as much power as this very blog. It was the silent board of my life for the last seven years. It was the epilogue of my previous life, and sometimes it even went further back, overlooking moments lost in time and space. It opened windows to the future, or to a possible future that sometimes became present, and sometimes became nothing. It witnessed my downfall. Several times. It watched me raise again. It scared others. It scared myself. Reading today what I've written over the last years would kill me faster than all the cigarrettes I've ever smoked. Writing it today kills me faster than a bullet would. Writing it tomorrow would cast me back into the shadows. But it also gave me life. It gave me life everytime I wrote black words over the white background. It renewed me whenever I saw my inner thoughts being shaped into my own words, into a quote of genious said by someone else, into a song I could never sing myself. I was destroyed and made anew by its mirrored words, by the way it spoke only to myself, no matter in whom I was thinking about. I wrote a while ago that I cannot cry, remembering that in the last ten years I was able to do it only three times - one for happiness, one for despair, one for pure, unbridled wrath. Never for sadness. I was wrong though. I can. Not liquid, salty tears, but drops shaped like words. This space is full of them.
Seven years of people coming into my life. Of people leaving it, some with a trace, others without it. Of change. Of smiles. Of deception. Of cruelty. Of anger. Of lies. Of truths. Of love. Of hate. Of illusions. Of mistakes. Of everything that made my own life during this time, in a way only I can understand completely (if even I can). These pages are perhaps the best autobiography I could ever write of those years. I shared it first with myself, and then with everyone else willing to read it. This blog would now be going into its eight year, and it's time for me to put an end to it. For those of you who came here over the last years, whether I knew you or not, whether you were a friend or a foe, whether you were a regular anonymous watcher or a random passer-by - thank you.
