Funny Life

I really do not want to rant all the time. It gives me cold sweat and hyperventilation and who would enjoy that? Sometimes, however, in the absence of my doctor (read: shrink), I need to express. Hence, my blogs. My daughter Ana told me long before to stop posting at this social media account I have all the sarcasm I have in me, she said it was, well for lack of a better word, ugly (in other words, 'pangit). I replied defensively, telling her that my account was a personal one, and that her concern that I hold a managerial post had nothing to do with my personal life. To this she said, 'eh di mas lalong pangit, Mom, kasi hindi ka pala mabuting tao sa tutuong buhay' (translated: following that train of thought, she thinks it is worse that I draw the line between being a head of office, and my personal life by the social media account). 

I post an average of ten stories a day, ranging from my morning greetings to my kids and their pictures, my quote for the day, my breakfast which will announce to the whole world where I am, and the trivial things not everyone cares about. I understand perfectly that the world does not care what I had for breakfast, nor do they care what I was feeling, wearing, thinking, doing, at certain times in a day. I do not also think they care at the very least what my opinion is about current issues, what this celebrity is wearing, what someone said about something, etc. Yet I put it out there, in social media, for everyone to see, and take note of. 

I now begin to wonder why I bother. My life was simpler before the advent of internet, before all these social media vehicles we all bring life to by posting, sharing, ranting, flaunting, and yes, fighting, as in making public the supposedly most private what-nots in our lives. I realized that there are two extremes that this wave of technology has brought upon me.

First, it awakened the monster inside me, this breathing creature clawing its way out my psyche for the longest time. Social media gave 'it' an avenue to rear its ugly head. Reversely, social media opened doors for my deep-seated longing to show kindness, gratitude and compassion. Second, my Uncle Paul told me very simply that if it were not for Facebook, he would not have 'known' the persons we are, as he has lived abroad with his family all his life. In fact, his 'pasalubong' or his gifts were all well thought of, as he based what he felt we wanted, on the personalities we displayed on social media account. Reconnecting, keeping in touch, strenthening bonds. Big words, yet social media gives us these opportunities. 

I listened to Ana. She said my blogs were enough to put out there whatever message I wanted across. If I do more than that, she said, it is a clear indication that I am a disturbed person and that she will personally have me treated in a psychiatric institution. So far so good. Although there are times  my fingers seem to have life of their own and slowly creep to the keyboards, then type hateful posts. Then my brain would start working again (I have lapses each day, truth to tell), and wills the same fingers to delete the post. Like a fever, this desire to let everyone know what my life is about, runs through my body. The relief is only experienced when I write it, like I am now. I can only hope that this 'disease' I have, if one may call it that,  can be of help to those who read them, perhaps make them learn life's lessons. That is aside from the laughter that comes with their reading. Funny life I have. And everyone knows that now.