With the existence of online technology, who isn’t into blogging? Many of those who are spending hours in the web are most likely maintaining online sites where they write anything they do, from protesting on the streets to commenting on the recent calamities to crying from heartbreak to sharing hobbies and shopping list, to even the daily weather condition.

A quick googling will reveal that a blog is the newest form of journalism with a reverse chronology, unfiltered content, comments, links, a relaxed attitude, and appropriated text. It is a short cut for a web log, a place where you can cover your own event and present it in an informal tone you want. A blog is your rants in a journal that is made public and readers post comments online.

I would have wanted a journal under lock and key much like the one I made when I was a toddler. I do not have any recollection as to where my highly confidential journal has been clandestinely resting now. Suspicion points though to one of the brown boxes mama piled for documents left untouched for years.

Mama is a hand that rocks the cradle with a magical prowess to discover hidden things, especially if they are of great concern – like love affairs or heartbreaks. The old journal contained all that, not to mention the day I lied about the big mirror I broke, or the money I unwearyingly saved for a trip to the city.

Before blogging became popular, I maintained a blue-covered journal that had every sweet and ghastly moment in it. The first page started with a warning “Please do not read” in big bold letters and in every page thereafter before every daily entry. This is to somehow scare infiltrators, e.g. housemates and friends, from breaking into my privacy and disclosing innermost thoughts not even my own shadow would like to recognize.

For many years, in all my travels in and out of the country, I scripted everything like a detailed story from a book.

It worked for months against all prying eyes. In some nights, I escaped from mom’s math and science tutorials so that I could spend time with my journal – writing equations of the heart and decoding the complex science of love.

I wrote, “My high school English teacher embarrassed me today. He said how could I be in the honor list when I cannot even correctly spell CREATE. I missed the last E just to be the first student to finish the essay.” I pondered deeply that night. Mom and Dad did not know. My journal did.

For years I haven’t asked mom of my journal’s whereabouts. I recalled I had the journal concealed under the bed covers before I left for college. No journal was found from then on. For weeks mom grinned like she had deciphered a code to Yamashita’s treasure. Each look was as mysterious as ever and I never asked.

In the advent of blogging, I feel I’d change my impression of journal writing. There is beauty in letting everyone know your private anticipations and imaginings! What excitement there can be to have your friends snigger at the running account of events happening in, on, to you! The good thing is, they can even be part of the tale you want to recoup, or moments you want to relive. How wonderful, isn’t it?

When the first posting showed online a year ago, I thought it was the beginning of revelations to come. Unlike the journal I had, my Composed Gentleman blog needs no warning or hiding from anyone. I comment about politics, careers, entertainment, books and even post interesting facts. Nobody tells me what to post, as I always believe, candor would be the best guide.