I’ve been delving within myself for a voice. My voice. Little Miss Joey’s and mine. Two voices, I suppose. Or one that sums us up, her silly self and my nostalgic-prone-with-a-tad-of-humour self. Have you seen them anywhere?
I keep having these questions about blogging and about this space. What is the point? What is my point?
I like it here. Little Miss Joey has the freckles I’ll never admit to having and occasionally she makes me laugh belly laughs and I honestly like her. And that means I like the space we have here. I love going through the archives for these two years of blogging and seeing bits of my life here; a sunshine-edited version of my life, but my life nonetheless. Images with a story. Images with words I could not remember writing but that my fingers still feel on their tips. Pieces of me, here, documented for whenever I forget how happy I can be. Inspiring Mondays have been the best. They have reminded me of the good things in a long year, the things I so often struggled to find when writing now forever recorded for me.
Yet I question the sense of it all. It seems to me most things need a reason and I frequently need to know that reason. It was one of the hardest lessons in my life to learn how to let go of the need for reasons… and clearly one I still need to work on. Eek.
Little brother helped me with this, as he often does. I said to him I may end the blog because I couldn’t see the point; he said: it’s because you like writing. There it was, my reason. Simple and unequivocal. The photography illustrates my writing and not the other way around. It was the writing all along. The little snippets of life, in photography as in writing.
As a last stop before I end my journey, I went to my Portuguese blog where the last post dates from November 2011. And it’s there, my nostalgic self, the voice that never leaves me. There I find it, the reason for it all hidden in the sad words that often did not reflect my days… writing. Again the writing and my passion for it, more than for anything else I do. Writing as the constant I always go back to when everything else needs a little break.
All of a sudden, I want to write and write and write. In English and in Portuguese. Pour my heart out in words. For myself. Yes, it is good, from the heart good, to be read, but unlike all I’ve learnt in communications training, here I have to write for me, because it makes me happy, because it allows me to free up some space inside for other things!