Trinity

Previously: Colony Ship Landed

This is the first time I'll be posting in my blog. Phew, it was a very long time since I did this journal thing. Maybe its time to move on... everybody's doing it so why can't I?

Ten years have passed since the time I set foot on this sphere. In the days of our weaning, this portal was seen merely as a novelty; an offshoot of the Live Journal, whose parchment had never read my letters.

The blog was a soul trip condensed in prose and poetry. Encrypted in a language spoken in zeros and ones. There between the digits rest narratives that are trivial and life-changing. They are stacked, like tomes, left to dust in the march of ages as new books are being penned. As fresh stories come to life, the old ones seem to speak to the present. They carry with them words full of dreams and despair, longing for atonement and fulfillment as some tales find their end.

Year after year, every time the planet completes its waltz around the sun, we observe this occasion not to gloat our accomplishment, but to pay our respect to that enduring spirit whose desire to pursue the written word never yields.  

It has outlasted our contemporaries, soared beyond the Masters in Creative Writing project, and went to craft works without ever getting the attention of the gods and goddesses of this sphere. Maybe, this lack of recognition; this self-denial that my prose have come a long way from the first spark of blogging is the reason for this longevity.

That I am writing to myself, and the future, hoping that in the ripeness of time, I will be found.

Yet, we know that the trends are swiftly changing, that the long form is nearing obsolescence. There even are days when we contemplate the passing of this blog, that without the self-flagellation; that refusal to chase the light and for once, make the Instagram and Twitter audience learn of this place, I would have disappeared like the rest of the bloggers.

The discipline we have forced into ourselves is what keeps us breathing. And that quest to refine the aesthetics of storytelling is what inspires us in writing.

Thus, we adhere that as long as the divided medium never resonate a single voice. When we ourselves continue the engineered suppression of our existence, keeping this journal may still be a worthwhile calling.

So is the microblog.

And the stories-within-pictures.

In observance of the tenth year of whatever artistry this blog has become, grant me the privilege to speak of that trinity. 

Because tomorrow and in the years to come, the three medium will struggle to find their ground; their audience never learning the existence of the others.