I remember the time when I was still an active blogger, can't wait to tell the world how I feel and what I have learn.
Recently, it has all stopped. I fear people bridging my privacy, knowing too much, I fear I have invaded others' privacy for mentioning them or giving TMI about them. In the world of social media where you could just add an '@'sign in front of a person's name to make sure they are notified when you talk about them, I slowly fail to see the very purpose of mentioning.
Are the attention-seeking real? Do I really want to know what people think about me? from a mere picture, one-sentence statement, what I wrote about my life? Fear of judgment has become my biggest hurdle to write, to express myself like I used to be. My experience of living in between cultures have exposed me to the many interpretations of actions and behaviors in life. A free-spirit girl in America can be interpreted as a slut in Morocco; a submissive woman in Malaysia can be seen as lack of woman's right from the west. News reporting became a bias information feeder to the ignorant readers who blindly trust but do not question deeper.
Who are my readers anyway? Are they just family and friends? I refuse to put my blog on private because I believe that my thoughts are interesting and meaningful enough to educate a stranger. My pride told me that I can unconsciously impact a conscious reader. Discussing about my life could eventually inspire others' journey of seeking self, education and purpose in life. However, recently, I think I am muted. I have muted myself.
Oh I have lived. I have lived through the wonderful extreme ends of Moroccan culture, breathed in the dry desert wind and lush spring flowers of the country, crossing lines of black and white to understand reality of human suffering and wandering, peaked through the lives of both elites and struggling hard workers from the deep narrow streets of the old cities, and invaded the exclusive religious but unorthodox ceremonies in the dark. Can I tell? Can I really tell what I have seen, heard and smelled?
Can my stories recuperate my adventurous desire that fails to surface in this purposeful arranged routines in the summer by this prestigious and expensive institution that I pay a peanut (compared to many) to get in?
But I think I have already made my decision. My brain could not hold anymore. It wants to be freed, freed of secrets, freed from hiding. I have a lot to say, and somehow, neither my term paper, nor my facebook and twitter status are enough to contain that. Whether its my superficial self seeking for attention, or my civic self wanting to teach others about my free-spirited life, I think it is time again for me to speak up.
Stay tuned.
