Life is like writing I guess. We’re living for an audience.
We’re writing for an audience. Who and what the audiences are determines *to a certain degree* how and what we’re writing and thus also how we’re living.
I read somewhere that no matter how carefree our writing is—or how controlled it is—saying how we write is for our own pleasure, satisfaction or maybe for our own reading in the future about the documentation of our past lives; we’d still have an audience that we set in our minds when we write. Right?
I mean, even though I am writing carelessly and aimlessly *or so I wanted people to assume*, I do take into considerations about the people whom I know would read this. Therefore, in a way, I am controlling what people read about here.
And in another way, I am not everything about what I write. My mind is so much more than what I wrote about here. What I thought about every second of my life doesn’t necessarily be portrayed here.
Because I take into considerations the status of this blog—public. Why in the first place did I put it with such status? It is so that whenever I decide to write anything, anything for this blog; I’d make sure it’d suitable for everyone to read even if the contents only converse about my own life and the way I see things. I’d make sure I write only what I want people to read.
And so, the people who assumed my personality based on solely the writings in this blog is somewhat limited in their judgment. But that’s just another passing of another judgment. So, excuse all of ourselves for passing judgments.
But the real problem is, I think, that this audience that I set in my mind while writing wouldn’t get me anywhere ultimately. I’d like to change my perception of the audience of this blog… if that’s possible.
I wish I only care about the One true audience that deserves to ever judge me and this life. But where oh where is my mind.