I think I’m deficient in expressing myself, and there’s something vaguely stifling about it. It’s no stray inkling, it’s a conclusion derived with considerable certainty. Had it not been for the fact that I’m about to dunk myself in relatively unknown waters, this rather unsettling tendency wouldn’t have caused so much of a ripple. But as of now, without the slightest embellishment I can say that the inability to emote could well be the cause for future turmoil. The silver lining lies in my capacity to watch and follow. I’ve been trying to do so for quite sometime now, but yielding exasperatingly miserable consequences. Undoubtedly I’ve underestimated such a reason for concern.
I seem to have deluded myself into thinking I could write, but the more I read what I’ve written, the more I’m convinced otherwise. My earliest posts did have this naïve earnestness, a hint of nervous hesitation. I’ve retained the candor somewhat, but diluted the apparent charm and lost the pretty words. Hence the oppressively bland posts which leave no room for revival.
A slight consolation lies in the fact that I’ve been able to recognize the signs alluding to a social mirage I had until now failed to discern. Which brings me back to the initial hurdle. Of expression. There was once an unexpected burst of victory. But that was apparent in the virtual word, and sometimes barely so. Besides the virtual world unleashes it’s own army of html tags expressing elation and sorrow and most things in between with such brutal crudeness, it took me a few bouts of suppressed discomfiture before I allowed my cursor to select a yellow plastic face that supposedly signals I’m happy. Or smiling. But the mechanics of this whole process is indisputably valuable. By replacing my usual full-stops with yellow faces, I find I’m magically laughing, gracious, ecstatic, disgruntled, irate and a host of other things with minimum effort. Pure genius, as I quote a friend.
But to translate such practiced ease of expression from the virtual to the real world is no cakewalk. Once I’ve sloughed off the excess reluctance, I can hope to take my first step. There isn’t any excuse for my indolence, but even so, a conscious effort doesn’t necessarily mean a correct one. Although, the only risk I run is of being misread. And I’ve dealt with that before. Frosty, condescending, rude. This time it’ll probably drift to what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-her. Oh well. A few stumbles in the bag, maybe, just maybe, I’ll slip right in.