Will you call me a hypocrite, call me a liar?

Why do you write? Why am I having this blog? Why, there are times when I suddenly feel the urge to write, regardless what the topic is about. It’s like, I HAVE TO WRITE SOMETHING.

And I notice I write better when I’m upset. Or angry. Or emotional. The flow seems to be perfect. Like everything comes out naturally.

Perhaps there are things that are better off in words, written, rather than uttered. True enough. Sometimes I write a long piece of essay, venting out, rambling on some emotional craps, then I stop, wondering if it’s appropriate for me to post it on my blog.

In the end, they all go to Izleen, my best friend. She never fails to be my faithful reader.

This blog used to be very personal, full of emotional stuff that I couldn’t bear keeping them to myself. The need to let them out drove me to post those things on my blog, with very minimal consideration if they were appropriate or not. Well, it’s my blog after all. Even if I get the facts wrong, who are you to argue? Go have your own blog then, no?

But part of it was also due to the underground-ness of this blog. I don’t really publish it anywhere. Like Facebook, I’m not one of those who posted new entry then pasted the link on their FB wall. Unless I want to inform a particular person on what’s going on, so there it goes. Other than that, no one cares. I am free to write anything I like. I used to say, no one reads it anyway, so why bother?

I guess it’s not the same today. Having eyes for details, I could track some silent readers who read my blog on regular basis. Well, thank you for that. But when you have frequent visitors, it’s like you’re having fans (lols). No, not that kind of fans who shout WE WANT MORE kind of thing. But you know people are reading. They might know you in person, they might not. Vice versa.

And that’s when you have to watch your words. Watch your say. Because it might hurt your readers. I avoid being too personal these days, simply because I feel too many people that I know in real life are watching. Not that I don’t like them, I do appreciate their care (curiosity, I would say) about my life.

It’s just that sometimes anonymous readers are much more preferred since they don’t know you in real life. They know you from your blog, and that’s it. They can judge you all they want, you couldn’t care less. They could love you without you knowing, and again, you couldn’t be bothered.

Now? Things are different. I am more careful in my writings, to take care of those precious hearts I know. And also, to avoid speculations and counters from unrelated people. I know I’m playing safe, no thrills and adventures, and some might even call me a fake. I wish I could be my true self in this dwelling place of mine. But no it’s not that easy. The real writings, the truest of me that you can get, well, they are all with Izleen.

One thing, if I get upset or extremely emotional over something, I’ll put them in words, and let Izleen read them. She’s the one to decide if they can be posted, though more often than not I decided not to post them up. Well at least someone reads my writing, that should be good enough.

Like what I just did few hours back. I posted some emotional junk before deciding to delete it. Izleen has read it, she thought it’s kinda cool, and SO me. But eventually, being me (again), I took it down because no, I’m not here in blogging to pick a fight or start gossips or what not. I don’t do cyberspace invasion, nor story-telling competition.

Because I know, sooner or later, those emotions or whatever crap there is inside me will eventually subside. But anything I have posted will not.

Or perhaps I'm just too coward to show the real side of me, after all.

 Will You Hate Me? by Dawud Wharnsby Ali

Smile in the two- way mirror of my eyes
I put on my faith like I wear a disguise
You can’t see my soul
See the life that I live
Show you the mask of the best I can give
I’ve hid here afraid like a child behind.
Truth of my thoughts that clutter my mind.
What if you knew about all that I do?
Things that I think,
The me that is true.

Would you call me a hypocrite?
Call me a liar?
Would you curse out my name?
Would you damn me to fire?
Would you know what to say?
Or would you just walk away?
Afraid the me I’ve tried to hide
Would too closely resemble the truth of you that lies inside?

I’ve been looking for answers since becoming an adult
Not looking for dogma to live like a cult
I’ve been looking to live,
I’ve been living to find
Freedom from cages that limit my mind.

Will I scare you, upset you, frustrate you, irate you?
Challenge a lifestyle or weaken your trust
Or will you see my efforts and my passionate sincerity
Would you see just a little of yourself in me
Will you take off your mask so we can both be free.