of passing eras, revisited.

Two words come to my mind whenever I think of coming here to write: passing eras.

Because I think this is what is happening, where I am in life right now – I find myself not writing like I used to. Not because I don’t want to, not necessarily, and not because of lack of time either, though that’s true to a degree. Passing eras. I think I don’t write like I used to because just as how it is necessary to grief in private, likewise this is how it feels like with living.

My life stories (feel like they) are no longer for public consumption.

But I will never forget to feel thankful for the wonderful people I’ve come across and connected with through blogging, however brief or long-lasting. I met up with one yesterday. I’ve written about her before, she who is both older and wiser; personally, I’ve always looked up to her. I actually hope to meet with her bi-yearly, because I value what goes on in her mind. What was supposed to be a rather brief meet turned out to span 2.5 hours – we spoke casually about everything from scrutinizing and finding enjoyment in Asian entertainment to my working woe to being a Muslim, today, and blogging.

Of course, blogging.

“I know the role that blogphilic plays in my life, how it documents passing eras and chapters of my life – but I don’t write like I used to, I think. Nowadays I talk about what goes on in my life – challenges – in-person among small groups of friends and of course, with my eldest sister. There’s actually a few things that I’ve been meaning to write about, but every time I try… I just never get to them.” I paused. “I find it harder to write about what’s going on these days. They’re murky; gray areas. I guess that’s what it means to be an adult and that’s exactly what it feels like I’ve been doing a lot of this year – growing up.”

Sometimes I think of certain older blog-friends and I feel somewhat guilty; am I in the wrong, is it my fault, for not keeping ties? Are they still reading, do I care enough to find out? Do I care enough to rewire the connection? Does it mean anything?

Were we good for each other only during those moments we crossed paths?

And in this time of passing eras, that’s an era that has since dissolved to become part of the past. And when it comes to growth – not everyone who was with us in the process of becoming will stay by our side by the end of it. That’s just life.

I can’t seem to – no, I no longer do – write like I used to.


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