Why blog? Writing to be Understood
To me it is a far flung place with snow, fur hats and serious looking people with brows knit in deep contemplation of aforementioned snow.
It could not be more far-flung from my tropical life of mangoes, watermelon-sunsets and ocean-swimming.
But last week someone from Romania read my blog.
I magined them recumbent, sipping on a potato-based liquor, back-lit by the dying embers of a well-tended fire.
Somehow, my words had needled into a Romanian’s spare twenty minutes.
It was then that I knew I was hooked.
Hooked on blogging.
What I have always known, even before the Romanian read my post is that I wanted to blog.
I have wanted to blog before I knew what blogging was. Before blogging was invented. Hell, I wanted to blog before the internet was invented.
How is this possible you may ask?
Because I used to put notes in bottles.
Our family would camp by the ocean. It’s an Australian thing. (Just clarifying in case you’re the Romanian.)
During the long, hot days I would sit outside our orange tent and labour over inquisitive notes to strangers in exotic lands.
I’d plug them with tape then set them off to sea; watching their barnacled voyage into the horizon.
I imagined the recipient just as I imagined the Romanian.
They laughed at my jokes. They nodded emphatically. They ‘got’ me.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t a reply button at the end of my note. But guess what?
There is now.
The internet is one big reply button. People leave notes in bottles all over the web. Every second. Every nanosecond. Every whatever-is-shorter-than a nanosecond.
The ‘collective’ make our sticky threads of thought a web. A world-wide-web.
My favourite line from Before Sunrise is when Julie Delpy’s character, who is slowly and exquisitely falling in love with Ethan Hawke’s character, says to him:
“I believe if there’s any kind of God it wouldn’t be in any of us, not you or me but just this little space in between.”
It’s the ‘space in between’ that humans have always wanted to fill with prose, art and music.
It’s a caveman’s drawings. It’s Michelangelo’s David. It’s a note in a bottle.
Just press publish. Space. Between. Filled.
So where are you right now? Perhaps you’re in Romania reclining with a vodka-shot and gazing at snow.
Hi there. Nice to meet you.
Thanks for picking up my note in a bottle. I knew someone would.
This isn’t Romania, it’s a snap that I took in Arctic Canada. But when I think of Romanians, I see this.