When I first started blogging, it was on MySpace. I blogged every two hours. That might be a gross over-exaggeration, but I blogged several times a day. And I am not talking about the - I am now eating breakfast, I am now cleaning the dishes, I am now bored- kind of blogs. It was deep stuff. It was about my angst, about my love life (or lack of thereof), about humanity, about politics, religion, name it.
I was 22 and had just gotten a new real job in the film industry. My working experience dates back to when I was 18, which is something if you grew up in Kenya where we don't have part time jobs when you are in high school or still in school for that matter. I graduated high school early, and was stuck in an awkward position where I couldn't work and I couldn't go to University as yet. So I went to an IT college and in 3 months, I was done. Back to that awkward place again. I went to my college and asked if I could teach the beginners. I got hired and that was my first job. Then came a series of insignificant jobs that I have recently stopped putting in my CV, then the move to the big Nairobi city all by myself. More college, more insignificant jobs in TV stations, then finally the real job. There was something going on in my life then. I was beginning to understand responsibility on a whole new level. I had responsibility back home, being the firstborn and all, but this was different. I was aware of the world around me, of life, of money and career, of growing up, of being a woman.
I was no longer a clueless girl drifting in life, I was becoming a woman immersed in life. I was being opened to a world where my thoughts mattered and my actions held consequences for me, my work and my colleagues. I was part of a team. This was a new feeling. I went to an all girl boarding high school which is in itself a 'team' teaching experience, but for some reason, it never stuck on me then. I needed an outlet. A blog offered that. In the coming years, I would move my blog here and even write some more. I got followers, I even became real life friends with my readers. I joined blog groups, and discussed my blog posts with complete strangers. Then, I started withholding. I became aware of how much of my life I was sharing and suddenly, I felt open, vulnerable even. I started agonizing how much was too much, who was reading my blog and what they thought about me. I became conscious, a feeling that was foreign to me. You see, I never cared what people though about me before and now that I was thinking about it, I stopped writing. I would open my laptop, log in to my blog and type in a whole post. I would click save and shut the computer. It felt good to write, but to have it sit in my drafts left me with a feeling of dissatisfaction. A quest not complete.
Something else was happening. My career was taking off, I was doing more with my life, I was traveling more. That became my new reason for not blogging. I was busy. And I worked so hard at convincing myself that. It worked...for a while.
I used to be a storyteller. I was known as the writing-novel-reading girl in school. I was not reading anymore, I was writing even less. It has made me different. I have been feeling cramped, suffocated, constricted. Then my boyfriend ( feels like we are too old to be calling each other boy/girlfriend) bought me a moleskin. You see, he writes. A lot. We went to his home in Northern California to pick up some of his old stuff and boy, does he have a lot of journals. He is a film director and his journals are a cross between his creative thoughts and personal rants. I digress. Do that a lot nowadays.
I lost my mojo. Even began to question my ability as a writer. I have recently moved to a new town, a new continent, a new culture. And I am getting that itch. I have a little bit of time on my hands. But I have already come to terms with the fact that 'busy' was a concept I invented to excuse my fear of revealing too much. Maybe I should keep my blogposts less personal? But then, wouldn't that make me a hypocritical blogger? Isn't writing about letting the words flow from your mind, unhampered, down to your fingertips? If they have to go through a filtering system, that would mean I was being...phoney.
So I am starting again. I cannot deny the fear is there, but I can admit that I am loosing apart of me when I do not write. So here's to finding my mojo. Again.