so it seems i’m back to the blog. i’ve already angsted about the meaning of writing to the imaginary public, but it seems i’m enjoying doing it, putting my stories in order and collecting them in a nice format. but now i have an accessible version of my narrative, that i am able to delete but am very unlikely to, how does that affect the real, conscious version of me?
i remember at the beginning of my latest relationship, reading my new girlfriend’s blog. i wanted to know more about her, and went back throught the archives, meeting different versions of meela, getting a feel for who she was, or at least how she presented herself, through time. i like people’s stories, and i was glad to hear hers.
i found her an engaging writer, but it wasn’t actually me she was engaging with. most of what i read, when she wrote it she hadn’t even known me. knowing the facts of her life is not the same as listening to her tell me about herself. and when she did tell me stories, many of them i already knew. if they sounded the same as the version i’d read, the narration was just as impersonal as the blog, but if they were too different, i didn’t know what to think. torn between her own sincere opinion, and prior gossip, also from her, and presumably just as sincere.
for myself, i’m not too worried about my story changing. part of the attraction of the blog is to be able to monitor that kind of thing, and have a record of how things seemed at the time, once time has done its work on memory. but the intimacy of revealing our stories and opinions with someone we want to really really understand us is something that can’t be approximated. i hope a future partner never reads this until i’ve already told them every story i’ve written here.
as for others, maybe i can draw another line in the sand of what actually makes a close friend: a good friend is one with whom you take the trouble to exchange your stories personally, rather than just reading eachother’s blogs.