Dear Diary

Blogging appreciates my intrapersonal communication skills, and what's great about it is that no one finds it weird. When I tell my friends that I talk to myself and can actually finish a sentence for myself, they would either look at me with amusement on their faces or with pity. But then, the ability to commune with oneself is a rare privilege.

My Blogspot account serves as my haven, my hiding place for quiet times. When I want to "go out" and join the fun, I use my Multiply account. Before posting my first entry on Blogspot, I made a headcount of my friends who are also into the same provider, and I found out that most of the people I know who are into Blogspot belong to my circle of closest friends. I kinda like to keep this as a private place for myself, and if anybody finds out, then, kudos, cheers and welcome!

I grew up reading the Diary of Anne Frank, although I don't remember finishing it. My mom would always push me to read it as if it was the most enlightening book of all time. In fairness to my mom and to Anne, everytime I read her entries, I would always feel the connection between her words and my heart. I could feel her, and at some point, I thought I knew her.

I tried keeping a diary when I was young, but I didn't enjoy it. It seemed like I had to make a quota of entries or something everyday. It eventually became sort of a daily "academic" exercise because my mom told me that keeping a diary would help me track my progress in English and polish my grammar. So, instead of just pouring out my emotions, I focused more on grammar, organizations and mechanics.

When I talk to myself, I also think that maybe someday someone would get to listen to my stories. Maybe someday too, someone would find out about my secret blogspot.