Scribo Ergo Sum

Today is my parents’ 38th anniversary, and, as is the case every year, with the date nipping at the heels of the New Year, I was hit with the double whammy reminder that I will also be another year older.

It was a particularly depressing experience this time around, and it wasn’t just the thought of my parents’ mortality and the passing of the years weighing on my mind. This year also marks a milestone for me: I will be 35. Oh yeah, sure, it doesn’t have the significance of, say, 16, 21 or 50, but it means that – dear God – I will be officially middle-aged. Halfway to 70. A mere five years from the Big Four-Oh. Moving up a box in the “age group” section of random surveys. One year short of three cycles in the Chinese zodiac.

But, in between contemplating how many more New Years and anniversaries my parents would celebrate, Saddam’s execution and my advancing years, I suddenly realised that 2007 would, prospectively, be a very, very big year in my life. And that cheered me up immensely. (Hey, I don’t need to have PMS to have mood and/or thought swings.)

I started counting the things I could be happy about in 2007. I kicked off the year by graduating with an M Litt – achieving my up-to-now life’s goal of getting a postgraduate degree before the age of 35. Big deal for me. Then there was also all of the following to look forward to:

(1) Because I have the M Litt, I can now apply for a visa which will enable me to work in Scotland, which means that
(2) At the end of April, I’ll be making, quite literally, the Biggest Move of My Life and also
(3) Starting a new job and life in an ang moh country, or
(4) More specifically, being a journalist in an ang moh country;
(5) In anticipation of (1), (2) and (3), my friend Gareth, with whom I will be living in Scotland, and I have drawn up Gareth and May’s Big To-Do List to help us make the most of our weekends once I’m over – the experiences should be interesting;
(6) My Been There, Done That country count will finally hit 20 once I do Cambodia and New Zealand in March and April respectively;
(7) And of course, I’ll be turning 35. Have I mentioned that yet? Yippee.

And to celebrate what could potentially be the most exciting year in my life, what do I do? I start a blog. (I’m boring, what can I say.)

I held out for ages and ages, and still don’t know if I believe in blogs – private thoughts are meant to be kept private – that’s what journals are for. Blogs just seem to lack that intimacy. Also, most of the people I knew who blogged seemed to have started doing so for the hipness quotient: Oooh, look at me, I blog, therefore I must have very deep thoughts to share! I blog, therefore I am part of a larger web community where we have little tête-à-têtes and share private jokes! I blog, therefore I am important, so pay attention to me! I blog, just so I can tell my friend(s) while on a trip to KLCC on the LRT that I am a blogger, and hope everyone else on the train looks at me with new-found awe and respect!

Pish. Tosh. Shite. Bollocks. Pretentious pseudo-intellectual masturbation. See Oscar Wilde quote in top left corner. So if I ever start getting wanky in my posts – look no further than the premiere title – a swift e-kick up the bum would be most welcome.

I don’t know the direction this blog will take – hell, I only ever really read two blogs on a regular basis – but I figure (1) to (6) above will mean I will have some decent stuff to write about. But I do know I don’t want it to be wanky, and I know how I want it look. I’m going to have Book of the Week and Factoid of the Day bookend each post, which I reckon will spur me on to achieve this year’s goal of reading at least 52 books, and unearth some excellent trivia. (I did consider retitling them Helluo Librorum and Aude Sapere – but that really is just way too wanky. Still, you never know… I’ve yet to get to my second post…) No Book of the Week this round though, because I’ve just finished reading a Patricia Cornwell omnibus – which I didn’t really enjoy, I might add, but at least I am one book down – and am thinking about what to read next.

But even if this blog turns out to be total crap, the least it will do is force me to write on a regular basis. I have to start somewhere if I want to have something like J. K. Rowling’s bank account some day, right? And I’ve recognized that I don’t I write enough, often enough, probably because I don’t think enough. And I really should, and – fingers crossed – it’ll be a pleasurable experience. I just don’t think I could respect myself or take myself seriously as a journalist if I don’t write, and I haven’t done that for a long time. (Dissertations don’t count.) I think that was one of the reasons I (subconsciously) held out – I was afraid that not only would I not have anything to write about, but if and when I wrote about it, it’d make rubbish reading. And if I want an interesting topic to write about, well, I’ll just have to live a bit more, won’t I? Which means forcing myself to go out there, have more experiences. (Good thing I have (5) above then.)

Nevertheless, it’s finally happened. I have given in. Sold out. I now have a blog, although Gareth says it reads like I’m doing it with gritted teeth. Perhaps, like learning the piano, the first few tentative attempts sound the clumsiest. And perhaps, like learning the piano, I need to learn how to enjoy it first. I did conquer Chopin and Rachmaninoff in the end, after all.

Factoid of the Day:
The village of South Milford, near Selby in North Yorkshire, has 45 road signs in the space of half a mile (or about 800m for those of us who think in metric).
(I love stuff like this. It really is pretty cool what you can learn from the BBC Magazine Monitor.)

NB Good grief. I have just noticed what a very long first post this is. For someone who worries about what to write, I sure can waffle.