Has it been too long? Maybe it has been too long. For so many years, this was the only outlet for my emotions, however big or small, petty or deep, anguished or joyous. I have to admit that much of it was saturated with a healthy dose of narcissism, but really, at the tender ages of 18-23, is there even any other way?

A few days ago, a series of events occurred to recall attention and memory to this blog of mine. You know how Facebook does these Photo Memories that happened X amount of years ago? Yes, exactly.

Reconnecting with old friends is such a strange phenomenon. We spend so much of our formative years with a select group of people, and then we grow up and move away and onward with our own stories, hurtling through Life, through jobs and careers and partners and ups and downs. It's so easy to forget, how for that slight number of years, we were all so important and integral to one another.

A few days ago, a friend and I walked the briefest of steps down memory lane and commented on how much we have changed over the past 13 years. I jokingly said that, of course, change is inevitable and asked if we went from wide-eyed optimism to jaded cynicism. He said yes, if you read through your blog, you can definitely detect the mood changing over the years. 

It's the last reminder of who we all used to be.

That was deep. A little too deep for a Thursday 7:32 AM sort of conversation. But he was right - it IS the last reminder of who we all USED to be. Who I used to be.

But that is another question that begs to be asked: if this blog represents who I used to be, then who am I now? #identitycrisis #welcometothenewageofhashtags

I used to love writing. Words spilled out of my finger tips like a faucet left on on high. Every day and every night, I would detail every aspect of my life. Poems, thoughts, opinions, everything was fair game. If I could type it out, it was being immortalised on the internet. And then one day, I cut my own feed and submitted to self-imposed radio silence. Why did I do that, I really couldn't say. It wasn't because I lost the love of words. If I really thought long and hard about it, and if I were to be truly honest with myself, I think I lost the appetite of broadcasting everything of me to the world, albeit the world being only a handful of constant readers. The abject vulnerability in some of my words proved too much for me to release to the public, and I guess I wanted to appear to be strong and in control.

Anyway, I am now 33 years old, and that self-consciousness that was never there when I was younger and then weirdly materialised when I was in my late 20s to the early-onset-30s, no longer exists. Of course, I hope to adopt more discretion with my topics of choice now, but I've come to realise that I don't want to lose this love of writing. Along with my love of reading, my love of eating, and my love of travelling, this is probably one of the only true loves that I have left that defines me.

So to the Waiks, if you're reading this still, know that you're the reason why this blog has resurrected. Maybe this is how Jesus felt after the whole Lazarus episode.