A blog is a new form of journalism with a reverse chronology, unfiltered content, comments, links, a relaxed attitude, and appropriated text. It is a place where you can cover your own event and present it in an informal and ironic tone you want. It is a place where you made public your days’ emotions and somehow expect online readers to post their comments. Blog is your journal in the World Wide Web.

I would have wanted a journal under lock and key much like the one I made when I was young. I do not have any recollection as to where my high school journal has clandestinely rested now. Probably, it is inside one of those brown boxes mom piles for documents left untouched for years. She knows what box holds what.

Distrustful I maybe if I say she’d already discovered hidden desires I had for Ms. X (Ms. X may most likely read this, but sweet memories are not meant to die, are they?), or the many times I lied about the cookie in the bottle, or the big mirror I broke, or the money I unwearyingly saved for a trip to the city.

Every sweet and ghastly moment was recorded. My journal in blue cover started with a warning on the first page “Please do not read” to somehow scare infiltrators, e.g. big brother and little sister, from breaking into my privacy and disclosing innermost thoughts not even my own shadow would like to recognize. As if the warning would prevent anyone from opening the little booklet, I had the caution written in big bold letters and in every page thereafter before every daily entry.

For many months it worked. I was able to conceal many nights of receiving love notes from Ms. X behind mom’s prying eyes. Only the journal knew the details. There were nights I pretended to be sleeping to escape the nightly math and science tutorials and so that I could spend time with my journal— writing equations of the heart and decoding the complex science of love.

I wasn’t spared from miserable nights, however. I wrote, “I cannot sleep. My English teacher embarrassed me today. He said how could I be in the honor list when I cannot even correctly spell CREATE. I know I missed the last E, but I was only in a hurry to be the first student to finish the essay. I understand him. I was the toughest threat to dethroning his son as the class valedictorian.” I pondered deeply that night. Mom and Dad did not know. My journal did.

For years I haven’t asked mom of my journal’s whereabouts. When I moved out for college, I recalled I had the journal concealed under the bed covers. No journal was found thereafter. For weeks mom grinned like she had deciphered a code to Yamashita’s treasure. Each look was as mysterious as ever. I never asked.

In the advent of blogging, I feel I’d change my impression of journal writing. What beauty there is to let everyone know your private anticipations and imaginings! What excitement there can be to have your friends snigger at the running account of events happening in, on, to you! They can even be part of the tale you want to recapture, or moments you want to relive. How wonderful, isn’t it?

When the first posting showed online, I thought it was the beginning of revelations to come. Unlike the journal I had, this one needs no warning or hiding from anyone. I wrote about politics, careers, skills and talents, book reviews and other interesting facts. Nobody tells me what to write, as I always believe, candor would be the best guide.
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