Being a writer is a very weird experience for someone like me. I am much too used to being on the other side. I have always been the reader, I have always been the listener. I am the one who observes the world and see its patterns. I am the one who consume the other’s creations.
Now I am here, creating original content for others to experiment. Now I am showing my observations for others to observe and judge. It’s their time to see patterns and have opinions about it. It’s strange to find that all this personal stuff that I am talking to no one is being seen by you. It’s strange to find that you who are reading this might know about feelings so personal to me like Trygve and Frosq.
It’s not only weird, it’s much more scarier than I ever thought. Every page view comes followed by guesses of the viewers’ impression of the place and things they’ve read. Thinking of the patterns they can find helps me rush to find them first, and it’s what causes my crossed rims of perception and martial inquiries.
It was terrible at the beginning when I had to endure with no interest from others. And now, huh, nothing changed that much, and sometimes it’s saddening to find absolutely no feedback. At least now I know why I am here, and the loneliness doesn’t bother too much. In fact, I’d be worried if this place started becoming popular. Now, that would feel like being encaged.
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