tonight i face my fears in writing

I’ve been closely following friends’ blogs lately and I just admire the free outpouring of their emotions that just by plainly looking at these persons, you wouldn’t have any inkling that these beautiful things go on in their minds. I have started my own blogs, too, only to leave them impoverished. Only a post or two inhabit these blogs, or if indeed more than a dozen does, these are the types you would post only to free up your disk space. I have never diligently maintained daily postings in my blogs, well partly because i do not always go online. But then, if i seldom go online, why hadn’t i kept a journal on old fashioned but equally romantic pen and paper after all these years?

The problem then goes way beyond the absence of the medium. I have issues about writing my own thoughts as honestly as i could, even in the extreme (well, nearly) confidentiality of the tangible journal. I know this is crazy since for years I have been a student journalist. Since grade school, I lived and breathed writing in publications. But now I am faced with these issues in writing.

I have kept myself from the therapy of expression through writing because of my fears and insecurities. I fear being read by those persons dearest to me, like my family, but i delight in getting comments on posts from friends. in blogs, i fear being labeled as a writer rather too selfish, writing passionately about herself and her travails and triumphs as if the world solely centers on her. on the other hand, on paper, i fear that one day, my mom, brothers, or closest family would discover the nook I hide my journal in, and feast their eyes on the darkest ramblings of my soul.

I come from a really good family of talent and intelligence (whoa) and i am mighty proud. most importantly, our story is far from the telenovela themes of feuding siblings and bitter relationships. so it’s not about the acidic blows on prose against family members that i fear being read, because there hardly is any.

my fear is more on reaching standards, on writing to earn their respect for my craft, and that they in turn would be proud of me, too. see, i am just too insecure and i hate it.

but more than the standards, i fear being read by my family about things that are quite sensitive, things and feelings i do not normally express freely with them. everytime i attempt to write about love, sex, affection, relationships, even my dreams in my career, there always dangles the risk of being read by family.

not that my family is too boxed in to actually have their sensibilities offended; it’s just that i’m not so ready to reveal this side of me they hardly know i have. or if they do know, how would they deal with it? For instance, if i invite a boyfriend to dinner at home, how would my mom or my brothers react? how do i open up?

perhaps these issues do not only affect my writing but many aspects of my life as well. like fears of having relationships, or taking on big risks in my career. because it always goes back to how my family would react to it. will he and my mom get along? will he be able to relate with what my brothers talk about? will they consider him at par with their standards?

before i become an emotional rut, i know i need to address these things now. i may not have a significant other yet, but it isn’t just about that really. i realize that this paralysis in writing has disabled me to talk to myself more, and has left confused about how i am now. it’s a difficult feeling to be hanging somewhere. i need hard solid ground beneath my feet now. i need to write again, as honestly as i can this time.