Ineffable [2008 annotation: that’s the name of my old blog] is a year old today. Fancy that. :)
This probably calls for some attempt at taking stock, a State Of The Blog address of sorts, except that I have nothing particularly profound to say.
Reading over a year’s worth of posts, I do actually like most of what I’ve written here, and how I’ve written it. I don’t think my writing has changed very much, either in style or subject matter. I write about how I’ve spent my days, partly to give friends who read it an idea of how I’m doing, but more to remind myself what the hell I do with my time. I write about where I’ve been, what I’m reading, listening to, watching.
I write almost nothing about the things that affect me most deeply, or that evoke the strongest feelings: rage, hurt, infatuation. (None of these happen to me very often at all, actually, so you’re not missing much.) I prefer dealing with these privately, because rage and hurt are always at someone, and I feel a bit nasty airing dirty linen like that on a public site. Infatuation (probably the rarest of the three) gets only very carefully calculated and massively understated references because I am generally far too romantically clueless and shy to let the relevant person know about it, let alone the world. Depression gets only occasional mention, because my problems are infinitesimal in the wider scheme of things, and whinging is boring.
So what of me are you left with, gentle reader (assuming you don’t already know me in real life)? Perhaps very little. You don’t hear the Michellisms that pepper my speech, the accent that I don’t believe can be anything other than refined Singaporean but which people keep insisting is Caribbean; you don’t see me dolled up in girly pink, or attitudinal in leather and gelled hair, or slouching around the house in baggy indie-rock T-shirt and drawstring trousers; you don’t really have a sense of what sets me off giggling quietly to myself, or collapses me with hysterical laughter while people look on bemused; you haven’t looked me in the eye, or hugged me, or even handed me the salt.
You do, however, have a glimpse through a chink (no pun intended, ha ha) in the armour that not everyone who actually knows me gets. You read what I write about friendships I treasure that I’m sometimes too shy to say to the people involved in real life. You have the benefit of reading me edited for coherence and comprehension, rather than having to deal with my tendencies towards convoluted sentences, tangents, and habit of speaking in disclaimers. You get the expert tour of what I think is good and reasonably interesting about me, without having to wade through the rest of the mulch.
And what if you know me in real life as well as read this blog? Well hey, lucky you. :P
I don’t exactly have any big celebratory plans for this anniversary, but I thought it would be good to refer you to a smattering of posts I particularly like for one reason or another. (I’m going to Amsterdam from tomorrow till Saturday, so I also thought this might make up for not posting in the next few days.)
An essay weekend
A bookstore stole my day
The Lazarus glove
Linkage jitters, reality bites, and the nonpersistence of memory
Don’t read Douglas Coupland on Valentine’s Day
The weekend my spring began
Fire drill epiphany
Feeling low (and tangential)
Yo La Tengo!
Girl Narrowly Escapes Exam Disaster, Contemplates Bestiality
How not to make it in health advertising
Xtreme X-Files dissatisfaction
Giggling in church
Musings on conversational self-censorship
The first belly laugh of the summer
Michelle down. Michelle back up.