Self-publishing has been around since the web was conceived. From the first email we sent, a 'hi - testing testing' to an intimate recount of our daily life to strangers on mIRC to those Geocities homepages with sickening .midi files, we've been accustomed to tell the world who we are, what we've done and more importantly what we feel on the worldwide web. Pretty much like what I'm doing right now.
Now that self-publishing is so second nature to us, don't you sometimes wish that we could just write into space and the 'universe' which is basically made up of people whom we don't know, respond to us instead of friends? Oh, hey not that I'm complaining or wishing that my friends don't read my blog... but sometimes, just sometimes, don't you wish you could publish something that doesn't get judged by people you know? Anything - I'm in love with my friend, I wish my neighbour was dead, I wish I was pregnant with twins, I think my boss sucks, my colleague is sexually harassing me and I wanna beat him up, I am power crazy, I'm envious of my siblings - I don't know, anything! Anonymity seems like a distant history...
From my poor observation and humble opinion... social networks may have sometimes spurred a 'false sense of personality' - a sort of pretence, a projection of our aspired self, personal marketing, whatever you call it - could we have exaggerated our happiness, enjoyment, etc a little too much when we publish about ourselves so shamelessly online? Could we have mistaken our narcissistic tendency for our true self? We update our status when we're happy, angry and sad which subsequently engage our social circle to respond. Could we already know how to instigate responses based on what we post? Hmm. I've learned not to read too much into people's status updates and tweet feeds. And I wish people won't take mine too seriously as well. Time and time again, I kept advising friends not to rely on SMSes and instant messages to decipher a person's intention because it's entirely absent of facial cues and body language, it's really to be taken with a pinch of salt. Same goes for Facebook, Twitter and what not. It's so strange... couple of months ago, I have advocated that social media made us more 'transparent' people. And today, I seem to be shooting myself in the foot. I suppose self-publishing is only kept real when you're not writing to please an audience or to achieve 'ratings' or for personal marketing. If publishers have a tendency to 'fictionalize' their experience, then the audience could also be accustomed to perceive the presented content in such manner. Hence, back to my SMS argument - this is where misunderstanding and misconception happens. Which is why, sometimes I do wish I could type my thoughts into 'nothingness' online. That way, my words are not chewed in ways they shouldn't be. I'm not greater than who I am. Nor am I any lesser. I am simply just me.
So write in a physical diary that's dedicated to my one true self, you say. I mean... who writes anymore!? Kidding, well I do. I scribble. A lot. For all those times that I have no connectivity and typing furiously on my phone seems like a helluva of an inefficient way to capture my thoughts before they dissipate, I scribble. In my notebook (the paper kind), on scraps of paper, napkins, receipts, whatever that holds ink. I have long skipped the fancy shmancy stuff of 'Dear Diary' unless of course I'm writing a snail mail, then I'll keep the fancy shmancy stuff. But come on! I'm sure there are times which you feel like holding up a loudspeaker and scream your thoughts into the funnel - uncensored, unpretentious, unbiased, all jumbled up, not making sense - with the purpose that someone actually hears you. Even if he or she or they may not respond. The assurance of someone's there... on the other side of the screen, nodding knowingly to your passion is... quite reassuring.
Hmm...
Well I know you are there. Whomever you are. Thanks for reading. I may have read your stuff too, somewhere in this great big virtual universe. I may have liked it. Or maybe not. But more importantly, I understood it and I'm just here to read if you wish to tell. Nothing more, nothing less. If I'd really wanna know you... or even judge you, I would have met you in person and see you for myself.
So there.
Now that self-publishing is so second nature to us, don't you sometimes wish that we could just write into space and the 'universe' which is basically made up of people whom we don't know, respond to us instead of friends? Oh, hey not that I'm complaining or wishing that my friends don't read my blog... but sometimes, just sometimes, don't you wish you could publish something that doesn't get judged by people you know? Anything - I'm in love with my friend, I wish my neighbour was dead, I wish I was pregnant with twins, I think my boss sucks, my colleague is sexually harassing me and I wanna beat him up, I am power crazy, I'm envious of my siblings - I don't know, anything! Anonymity seems like a distant history...
From my poor observation and humble opinion... social networks may have sometimes spurred a 'false sense of personality' - a sort of pretence, a projection of our aspired self, personal marketing, whatever you call it - could we have exaggerated our happiness, enjoyment, etc a little too much when we publish about ourselves so shamelessly online? Could we have mistaken our narcissistic tendency for our true self? We update our status when we're happy, angry and sad which subsequently engage our social circle to respond. Could we already know how to instigate responses based on what we post? Hmm. I've learned not to read too much into people's status updates and tweet feeds. And I wish people won't take mine too seriously as well. Time and time again, I kept advising friends not to rely on SMSes and instant messages to decipher a person's intention because it's entirely absent of facial cues and body language, it's really to be taken with a pinch of salt. Same goes for Facebook, Twitter and what not. It's so strange... couple of months ago, I have advocated that social media made us more 'transparent' people. And today, I seem to be shooting myself in the foot. I suppose self-publishing is only kept real when you're not writing to please an audience or to achieve 'ratings' or for personal marketing. If publishers have a tendency to 'fictionalize' their experience, then the audience could also be accustomed to perceive the presented content in such manner. Hence, back to my SMS argument - this is where misunderstanding and misconception happens. Which is why, sometimes I do wish I could type my thoughts into 'nothingness' online. That way, my words are not chewed in ways they shouldn't be. I'm not greater than who I am. Nor am I any lesser. I am simply just me.
So write in a physical diary that's dedicated to my one true self, you say. I mean... who writes anymore!? Kidding, well I do. I scribble. A lot. For all those times that I have no connectivity and typing furiously on my phone seems like a helluva of an inefficient way to capture my thoughts before they dissipate, I scribble. In my notebook (the paper kind), on scraps of paper, napkins, receipts, whatever that holds ink. I have long skipped the fancy shmancy stuff of 'Dear Diary' unless of course I'm writing a snail mail, then I'll keep the fancy shmancy stuff. But come on! I'm sure there are times which you feel like holding up a loudspeaker and scream your thoughts into the funnel - uncensored, unpretentious, unbiased, all jumbled up, not making sense - with the purpose that someone actually hears you. Even if he or she or they may not respond. The assurance of someone's there... on the other side of the screen, nodding knowingly to your passion is... quite reassuring.
Hmm...
Well I know you are there. Whomever you are. Thanks for reading. I may have read your stuff too, somewhere in this great big virtual universe. I may have liked it. Or maybe not. But more importantly, I understood it and I'm just here to read if you wish to tell. Nothing more, nothing less. If I'd really wanna know you... or even judge you, I would have met you in person and see you for myself.
So there.
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