Dear Diary, Bare Blog

Every time I open this page I wonder why I made it. Besides the obvious fame that I have reached, I was told blogging is about putting your thoughts into words, a newfangled concept about upending your brain and showing it to the world.
Kind of exactly like the oldfangled concept of keeping a diary, but somehow innovative. Somehow.
I have to admit that being a girl I tried to be exceptionally special by writing a diary like all the other exceptionally special girls around the world. I tried to be diligent too, therefore I had three diaries over a span of 9 years, each with only about five pages used over time before they were employed for better purposes, e.g. solving complex algebraic equations in the rough for assignments.
I even once had the very rare type of pink diary with a heart-shaped lock that every other emotionally stunted girl possessed, with a key that doubled as a very useful piece of tin that is of no use.
I had an extremely eventful childhood, as one could’ve guessed from the consistent mention of the term “bored”, strewn generously over my carefully worded prose that was written as carefully as a one-year-old carefully handles fireworks. I.e. very carefully, and with care. Unlike all the girls who used the word “kewl” I often used the word “kewl” to set myself apart and many a times I wrote down lyrics of pop songs by boy bands, a practice only practiced by a handful of millions of adolescent females.
Safe to say I always maintained my individuality, especially by doing something as commonplace as writing a diary. And then as I grew older, something not many have experienced, I noticed a very subtle shift as suddenly everyone jumped onto the internet bandwagon very suddenly in a subtle manner. I realized writing a diary by hand had become extremely rare hence everyone must blog to value a handwritten journal entry.
So I decided to make a blog too, and spent hours typing this post in five minutes to figure out where I kept those old diaries.
I have checked the drawer of all-things-miscellaneous and found everything that is not a diary. I suppose the fruitless search has been highly successful; I certainly seem to have collected quite a lot of receipts from the ATM machine. But that is a story for later.

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The blog that once was…

So I have a friend who landed a job as a social media executive in a new company two years ago. Inevitably, she recruited me to write for their website. Nothing much, just whatever I felt like writing.
Now I belong to the category of sloths that can think a lot but get nowhere, so I managed to write about five blog posts over there. Mind you, this only happened because I had absolutely nothing to do except write. So I did, as tedious as the job felt to me, I did.
And what masterpieces I created. I still think the sheer literary brilliance that shone through on those five entries earned me a spot on my resume as “accomplished blogger”. I’m not joking, its totally written on my resume, making up for the lack of other achievements in my life.
Funny story though, I googled myself a few weeks ago, I apologize if I’m not apologetic about it, but I did. And guess what? I couldn’t find my blog. Among the search results ranging from the typical to the bizarre, I found everything unwanted under my name except my blog. The one thing on the internet I was actually proud of besides my embellished LinkedIn profile.
Hurriedly I searched for the company’s web page but Chrome couldn’t find it, and you know what it means when Chrome can’t find it, right? Yes, it doesn’t exist.
“Why don’t you ask your friend?” You say?
Bekhuzz…she doesn’t work there anymore. In fact she resigned a year after joining them, what with marriage and relocation and whatnot.
So yeah, I wrote five blog entries for a website that doesn’t exist anymore. Curiously I don’t have any backups, whereas I, in my habit of saving everything in designated locations, was known to be the one who might have that childhood friend’s sister’s in-laws’ address to an essay my high school nemesis wrote and saved on my computer.
Yet I, the great hoarder of all thing irrelevant, did not have copies of the very pieces of literature that could have made me an online celebrity one day. Ok someday. Alright maybe never.
Thus, I turn to WordPress, a place where I shall now spread joy as I am incapable of spreading and love as I am unable to feel. As a result of this tragic turn of events I have forever lost what little I thought I contributed to the nebulous world of blogging. It doesn’t matter any longer. I have WordPress and, however unfortunate it may be, it has me.
Come now, we have much to share.
From tomorrow onwards.
We have much to share from tomorrow onwards.