The transition for the loneliest people

I am amazed that I’m still blogging for the third day. It is quite a transition from my journaling on notebooks. I admit that I also feel the weary eyes here, writing with my digital typing ink. When I was 14, someone who told me that people who likes to journal are the loneliest people, that they would rather observe and listens quietly and note down every tedium of daily life. Some you’d make up on your own and some, doesn’t even exist when you are recollecting through inside your brain, years later. For me, I knew from then beforehand that it was not possible to remember everything in life. I was also afraid that I would disappear slowly and turn into a small piece of bar of soap and then a lump of Mango Bite candy and then a tiny speck of dust into the void or nothingness. I experienced the-fear-of-missing-out as they said in today’s vernacular. Additionally, I was quite grateful and I still am that it allows me to be as moody as I want. I write in big letters when I’m embarrassed, scrawny and narrow ones when I’m sad, and a clear-upright handwriting I commit to, usually, when I’m upset with someone. In fact, I was so emotionally invested with my handwriting that I have never come across a journal of mine where the entries are looking the same way.
These days, I fear that I’m not as accessible as I used to be, as a person, as a human being. this thought came to me because I no longer have a Facebook account for years, neither I am on any other social media; currently in vogue these days. Of course, I used to have several accounts but I closed them all or they are in the abyss of forgotten passwords and hence abandoned scenario. But rather than dwell on the absence of the technological currencies, I am concerned about the things that I completely owned like my set of journals which are now sitting, covering in dust and indifference on my study shelves. I’m sure that no one will read it ever. I’m positive that  if something does happen to me, these are not the things my loved ones would try to open first. But writing here gives me a sense of an ephemeral transparency and I find it alright. I find it okay enough to come here and just type down, not trying to make things up and messing around with my introverted-observation skills.
This is the transition. I still write in my journal though.


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