home sweet home
It has come to my attention today that my blog has been picked up by a indie blog aggregator called indieblog.page. There are some other bearbloggers there, like Herman and m-bluelander, two bloggers that I look up to. I don't know what it takes to be added to this page, but it still feels surreal to see my blog up there with other writers I admire so much. It reassures me that I'm writing things worth reading and makes me feel like a part of something bigger than me, even though I'm not sure what I have done to deserve this. All I do is write disorganized, unfiltered musings about my life anyway; I don't think I'll ever cease to be amazed that people are interested in that.
I'm writing this post on my iPad using dictation. I have my laptop but I left my charger in the office and I don't want it to die. Transcribing text from my speech is painfully slow and inaccurate, and helps me appreciate how much easier it is to type my thoughts. I try speaking slowly and pausing to rehearse what to say, but still inevitably stumble over my words and need to rewrite about half of what comes out. Even if dictation were flawless, typing would still be many times faster.
I met up with a reader of my blog this weekend (my second blog-inspired meetup)! He was on vacation from overseas and made an inconvenient trek out to come meet with me. If I'm being honest, I had my doubts about meeting, especially so last minute, because we only exchanged a handful of emails, and I never got a chance to read any of his writing. I'm happy to say that it went better than I could have imagined. He was very kind and made me laugh all through our long lunch. If you're reading this, thank you for chatting with me! I had a lovely time and I hope our paths cross again one day. (That makes two out of two wonderful blog inspired encounters—I hope we keep the streak alive.)
I'm still getting used to the strange sensation of meeting complete strangers who have read some of my deepest, darkest thoughts and are privy to my most vulnerable moments. What is it about me that is comfortable sharing those things? Am I going to regret being so open one day? Is my vulnerability the main appeal in my writing?
🥠
I'm finally home! I spent last week lugging my stuff across a few states before finally ending up back here. It's so nice to be back in the comfort of my own room with all my beloved things, but at the same time it feels strangely like I've departed the real world (of New York) to return to this chamber where time doesn't exist and I don't have any responsibilities. My summer in New York reminded me that there's a big world out there, with things to see and people to meet and growing up to do, and yet—I'm back here again, right where I cried my heart out in April, noticing the emptiness where things I loved used to be. Cruelly, I finally have the free time to write that I so craved over the summer, but I no longer have all the interesting things to write about that I did in the big city. I guess you can't have it all...
I missed a lot things about being here, but I think the two things I missed most are my piano (and the space/freedom to play it and sing along loudly) and the great outdoors. I missed my piano so sorely this summer I went to friends' apartments to play on their keyboards and sing (quietly, of course, for where can you be loud in NYC without disturbing others?). And in the same way New Yorkers get used to falling asleep to the sounds of traffic, there are few sounds more calming to me at night than the deafening chorus of cicadas and crickets. I write these two things down as reminders to myself, because predicting what you might miss when you move somewhere else is not nearly as straightforward as you might imagine.
I'm slowly getting settled and working on responding to your emails and catching up on writing. Thank you for your patience while I do so! It's been hectic these past few weeks but fate permitting I will get back in the swing of things soon.
thank you for reading; write to me at yourstiramisu 🐌 proton dot me