8/20/2012
This blog entry is on the public domain

I am a blogger.

According to some people, I am just a blogger.

Sure, I can write, but I am not recognized by the establishment, not recognized enough to have the paragraphs I write printed on actual paper, on actual mass-distributed, plastic-wrapped paper.

I may know a lot about my experiences, perhaps a lot more than anyone else, and assume that writing about those experiences might be of some benefit to other people - maybe to entertain, to inform, to, err, to inspire - but that knowledge, that first-hand knowledge, is not worth anyone's grain of salt. I am, after all, just a blogger.

Because of that, the paragraphs I write are worthless. My thoughts, however well-defined they are, are worthless. I may write about what I think, argue for or against something, back it up with stuff I came up with thanks to critical thinking class back in my freshman year in college, and they will still be worthless, because the establishment does not recognize me. I am a whiner, just like everybody else, because nobody has given me my own slot on the soapbox.

Since what I write is worthless, anybody can just take my words - the very words that take hours, days, weeks to marinate because I want them to make sense, I want them to read wonderfully, I want them to be perfect - and, I don't know, use it themselves. The establishment, especially. Only they can give meaning to the words I write. Maybe they can do that by giving me that slot on the soapbox, or maybe they can do it by saying the words themselves. What I said will not be an acceptable truth until they say so.

This blog entry is on the public domain. Do what you want with it. I am powerless to do so, because I am just a blogger, a whiner, a man on a laptop, a nerd without a social life, a dork who just writes about things rather than living them. Do what you want with the next few paragraphs I'm going to write, because I am very much an insignificant blip, and my experiences are worth nothing unless you make it your own.

There's a contradiction in my life. I always believed I have a lot of friends, but I always say I don't have any friends. Sure, I hang out with them once in a while, when something important happens or when circumstance allows. But outside those, I'm just a guy who butts into conversations just to be seen. Nobody calls me for anything unless they need money (this happened) or a bunch of likes online (this, more so). But within the aforementioned favorable circumstances, they are genuinely (mostly) interested in hearing my stories, knowing what I've been to, maybe exchanging a couple of quips or something.

Today, while in the toilet, I realized that it's not completely because they never gave a damn about me. It's because I, acting in good faith, tried to make as many friends as possible.

Take college, for instance. Most of my blockmates, their closest friends are from within the block itself - a circle of four, six, ten people, depending on how welcoming they are. They spend mornings and afternoons and nights together, they go to places together, they exchange dark secrets and (possibly) other physical things together. Just among each other.

I've always wanted my own circle of friends, that go-to group for when stuff happens, but that's just not what happened. It's wrong, I believed, to not talk to certain people because they're not within my circle - well, save for that instance on CWTS class, when I literally threw a tantrum in the field because I wanted to keep Ian as my partner, rather than have Jom, the guy everybody loved to hate.

Anyway, the block went their separate ways after two terms, and I found myself enrolled in classes with different people, people I never would've known before if I decided to go where everybody else went. So, I met Jan, and I met Eena, and I met Isa, and I met Mon, and I met a bunch of other people that are in different circles, but still worth a shot. I joined the Student Council, and I met Carmel, and I met Redg, and I met Mara, and I met a bunch of other people that I wouldn't have crossed paths with if I kept my blinders on. I interacted with the veterans and the newbies, and I met Chris, and I met Elaine, and I met Krizzie, and... you know where I'm going with this. People in other blocks, people in other universities, people who know people I know. Again, you know where I'm going with this.

So, yes, I know people. Lots of them. Most of them, I'm good with. And they're good with me too. But the problem with spreading yourself too thin is that you don't really get the deeper connections that you get when  you have a close circle of friends. You don't get to go to random road trips, you don't get invited to birthday parties, you don't get told the more personal stuff. And I want that too, but I guess it's too late now. I'll always be the drifter, the guy that went places but never really had a place to call home, and my friends will never start (or continue) talking smack about my other friends because I'm friends with everyone.

But I guess all that means nothing to you. I didn't do any empirical research to back this claim up. Hell, I only thought of this in the toilet. And I'm just a blogger, a whiner, a guy whose specialty is to write things and act like an expert about it. Go take these words and claim them as your own, even if it doesn't match your reality.

And your responses...

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