Well, hello, to anyone who might have stumbled upon my blog after a very long period of inactivity. Over four years, to be exact. Not only has it been forever since I’ve written a blog post here, but it has also been so long since I’ve even thought of my blog. That is, until a few weeks ago, when I realized that I hadn’t even perused through my old posts in at least two years. Out of curiosity, I began reading through some of my posts—all of which were written when I was in high school—and I was a little taken aback.
I had forgotten my own voice!
It had been so long since I had read my own “blogger” writing that I couldn’t remember or even recognize it as my own. Usually, when I go back and read something that I’ve written relatively recently, even if I’ve forgotten the exact content of my writing, I can recall some of my thought process or essentially have an idea in mind about the flow or style. But this time around, I felt like I was reading someone else’s writing and had no clue what to expect next. It’s not that my opinions have necessarily changed (which, of course, there have been changes). I can remember my emotions at the time, what I felt passionately about, what I cared about. However, I had forgotten how I had expressed my feelings through words.
I think part of it is related to the fact that I didn’t do the writing ability of my younger self justice. It sounds a bit egocentric to say it, but I like to think of myself as someone who writes decently well, especially for someone not working in the humanities. (I’m in STEM, so I think I can criticize the ability, or lack thereof, of some scientists when it comes to writing). But, though I knew my writing could pass as okay, I never quite attributed it to my previous blogging experiences. To put it another way, I never saw my avid blogging as the reason why my writing was passable. In fact, I barely even saw blogging as actual “writing.” This could be related to a number of reasons, the first being that I genuinely enjoyed blogging; because it didn’t feel like a chore to me, I had this mindset that it was just “just” a hobby. So, for a very long time, I thought of my writing outside of blogging as being independent of my blogging experience.
It wasn’t until later on in college when I began thinking about my blog, now abandoned, in a different light. In my lab, I met a high-school student who had the same 12th grade AP Literature teacher as me. My teacher knew of my blog and had asked the student if I was still writing. That was one of those moments when I had to pause and reevaluate my own perception of my blog. I suddenly realized that, yes, my blog was writing. And no, unfortunately, I was not still writing. At least not in the way that I was before. I’ve always loved talking and ranting and texting, all of which I continued doing. Arguably, I was writing a lot, but completely informally. My writing was just limited to people I was communicating with in my day to day life (lots of long text messages to my friends, analyzing all sorts of different things—including books), and I was no longer actively publishing pieces of my writing that would be shared for the entire world to see.
Ironically, it was ultimately my medical school applications that brought me back to my fondness of writing for an “audience” (I use this term loosely) outside of my immediately family and friends. Though the style of writing a medical school personal statement or supplemental essay is clearly different from casually blogging, the actual process of writing felt very familiar to me. The truth is, I love using language to not just understand the world around me, but also, to understand and explain myself. Years of verbalizing my opinions, thoughts, criticisms, interests, and everything in between—through my blog—meant that I was already comfortable doing the same for my essays. I just didn’t immediately realize this.
In retrospect, I am very proud of, and thankful for, my younger self. And not just because I believe my passionate blogging in my teen years has had a tangible impact on my professional life (though, of course, this is a huge plus). Avidly reading, and then writing about the books I read—however silly those books may seem to someone who is not a 14-year-old—enabled me to develop a sort of analytic reflexivity that I don’t think I would have developed otherwise, at least not in the same way. The truth is, I love picking things apart. I’m generally a talkative person, so this isn’t just related to writing. I love using my words to help me think, and I love sharing my thoughts with the people around me. Blogging helped me discover a specific way in which I can express myself and have a record of who my past self was like: through written word.
Sadly, I feel as though it was this same analytical thought process that pushed me away from blogging. As I read through my last blog posts here, I found it tragically funny that younger me was also upset with the lack of engagement with her “discussion” posts, or posts in which I more deeply discussed my issues with certain books beyond just “I didn’t like it.” Basically, the posts where I wanted to tackle sociocultural issues within literature or the publishing world. I quite frankly felt, and still feel, like no one cared, and that the world of YA books was just dominated by white, Western women. Both readers and writers. Although I wanted to be able to talk about my real opinions on more controversial topics, I not only felt like there was no audience for it (perhaps I was wrong!), but I also felt unsafe doing so. After all, I wanted my blog to be my safe space, where I didn’t have to worry about identity politics or being doxxed or attacked for who I was. And I still do not want to worry about any of this—especially not on a blog with my rare, long name plastered all over it.
Of course, politics isn’t the only reason why I stopped blogging. I genuinely did grow out of the YA genre, something I thought would never happen as a teenager. For a long time, I barely read. Heck, I still don’t read as much as I would like. But at least now I know which books I’d like to prioritize, and which ones I’m not interested in anymore. I also feel more confident about my critique of certain novels or authors. Maybe more importantly, I care less about having an active audience or the number of views, likes, and comments my content may receive. It genuinely upset me when no one interacted with my posts. I felt so invested with little return; yes, I was writing for myself, but I also wanted it to be a social thing. I don’t know if I would have quit in the way I did if I had continued to receive a lot of online brownie points the way I had used to.
All this being said, the question is: what to do now? Just writing this one post has been so enjoyable for me, and I already have a few books in my mind that I would like to review. But as much as I am eager to write more, I don’t think this blog is the right place to do so. I have too many personal details on here, and would prefer not to write about topics relating to identity, culture, religion etc. with my name slapped onto every post. Beyond that, there will almost be a disconnect between my current and past thoughts on my taste in books, anyway. It’s nice to have a fresh start. I’m not sure what I’ll do yet. I’ve been entertaining the idea of starting a new blog and just see where to go from there, but I’ll see. I don’t want to feel limited by my lack of followers or engagement the way I was in the past. It’s difficult to stop thinking about the way your writing might be perceived, even if you claim to be writing for yourself. It’s all relational, right?
Anyway, although I haven’t decided what to do yet, what I do know is that I really am thankful for this little blog that I started so many years ago. I may have less time, I may have changed in some ways, but I am still the same person who fell in love with reading and writing as a little girl.
Best,
Silanur
Aloof Books 