“I am not a travel blogger.”
I told that to a stranger sitting across me at a table while eating my ice cream in my recent trip to La Union. Minutes ago, there were talks on the environment, saving the world and living with strangers in your house. Then I was asked what I was doing there.
After a few serious seconds, I realised I didn’t want to fool anybody by saying I write travel articles because I am a travel blogger.
True, my line of work is mainly about articles and running an editorial team, but it’s in a different discipline. And I didn’t bring it with me. I went to La Union for a day trip for myself.
I just like free-writing and I travel.
Upon realising in my 2012 look-back, I saw myself walking two paces forward into an unknown place of just writing for myself. I guess it’s hard to admit that sometimes, we write not for others to read but for yourself to be released.
I initially started this website to make Manila known, despite its ho-hum existence as a beautiful misinterpreted piece of land where beautiful people still thrive in. But I never had the time to actually explore its guts. All I did was to actually escape it.
How do I tell the world about it when I don’t even know how to go to, let’s say, Malanday on commute?
Reading my entries, I finally concluded that it’s not really a website for public consumption but for personal thought-keeping. I write to say what I want to say in line to travelling, and I travel to be in line to what I want to say.
It looks like it doesn’t really make sense. Regardless of anything, I am happy I write at my own pace but disciplined by my own desires.
Adam Kirsch once said:
If print is a luxury, make it a rare and exclusive one; if literature is antidemocratic, revel in its injustice. Make sure that the reward of recognition goes to the most beautiful and difficult writing, not to the loudest and neediest.
Now, where was I…