I Am A Stalker

I like to read people's writings. But I am not a stalker. Though at times I stalk people's blogs. People's journals. People I knew and strangers alike. Well, I do stalk, do I? Stalking is fun.

Humans are difficult creatures. Their thoughts are abstract, so complex that most of the time they're incomprehensible by their own kind. They chose to live though they know they're going to die. They chose to love despite of knowing the fragility of hearts. They chose to bet, despite knowing that the world is never fair till late. They chose to plunge to desires despite knowing its consequences. They are fools, with meaningful stories. They are clowns, with unending comedies. They are fireflies that shone brilliantly, if brilliant, despite of their short lives.

Yes, I am one of them and I'm proud to be one.

Then again, why do I like to read their writings?

Because it's a window, an opening, the safest place that I can take a peek, stalk and see their souls. Even just a little. Deep or shallow. When people write, their souls glisten, though in too short of a time. Even when they write bullshits. Even when they write for wrong purposes.

So when you write about bullshit, you're officially a joke. You are what you write. But wonderful still; 'a writing bullshit'. How cool is that?

Anyway, I write for no purpose and perhaps writing a blog itself wasn't a part of my plan. Opening up is one the hardest thing for me to do. So I blog because it helps me to open up, even just a bit. Even if no one is interested in it. In case you're interested,

Welcome,

here is a window to my soul.