[Emailing Yourself Junk: A Look at the Next Medium of Ideas]
by YBLalat

"I am sorry for everything that my page has caused you. However, from where I stand, you were the one who intruded into my journal. I remember telling you that this page is not to be read by any of you, likewise the contents of my diary, but for mere strangers who enjoy a good sense of humor and an occasional dose of sarcasm. You were pre-warned not to, but then when the shit has hit the fan and landed on your face, you blame the asshole that gave the warning. – [Excerpt 1]"

"When you told me how sometimes beautiful girls are also plagued by the hassle of finding their Mr. Right, I never thought that you would mention her name. I could only assume that those whom she was considering then only liked her because of her skin-deep beauty, but not of what she was inside. As of the same sex as them, I am deeply sorry to hear this. Sad as it seems, that is how majority of relationships started their rough journey. How eyes deceive. – [Excerpt 2]"

"Ever since I could remember the first time I started writing, I have always toiled to deliver my ideas and opinions in varied ways. Sometimes, I would intentionally write sentences using very dense and poetic analogies, hoping that they might intrigue the readers to find out further the message I was trying to convey. Once, I wrote a complete paragraph using only passive sentences, ignoring how awkward the plot of that story would sound to the readers’ ear, all for the sake of variety; although most of the time, they would become discouraged by such writing whims of mine. – [Excerpt 3]"

Yesterday was the busiest day of last week. That was why I did not have the opportunity to update my post on this page. It took almost the whole day of Sunday to settle every bit of matters that were constantly barging my email inbox. Having to sit through all this, in front of a Mac at the U of M public lab, I slept soundly. From thinking about them too often, I was haunted by multiple dreams, really bizarre ones. I had dreams within dreams, which reminds me of a certain Nightmare on Elm Street episode. I woke up to a dream and slept again to a nightmare.

All of the excerpts above are truly portions of emails to individuals which I wrote cautiously and with care as to not mislead them (again) with my unusual train of thoughts. Frankly, they are only a tiny part of long emails, written to elucidate the sole facts of matters, which concerns very much on what I have my stand on. Excerpt 1 is self-explanatory in its message; Excerpt 2 however is my reaction to a piece of sad news while Excerpt 3 is my journal to the instructor of my writing class.

The incident, which led to the writing of the first email, was that of the breach of privacy of this online journal I constantly iterate to my readers. Like I said before, the main reason I wrote sincerely on this page, sometimes touching issues which are very sensitive and provocative in nature, was that I felt very comfortable talking to strangers rather than to an acquaintance, especially with that regarding of my private opinions and feelings. It is already to my knowledge that those who know me in the real world, are faithful visitors to this journal. In a layman’s English, you should realize that I know you know about this.

However, the thrills of voyeurism are so engaging, don’t you think? I may pretend to not know of your constant scrutiny on my journal and act silently oblivious towards that. Then, if you keep your mouth shut and will endure swallowing rough chunks of my sarcasm; I wouldn’t mind suppressing the knowledge of your sin of reading my diary. Act normal and be ignorant about it, in short. Don’t come back yapping if you can’t do such. The shit has already hit the fan by then.

The girl whom I wrote to was an ex-schoolmate of mine, whom I hardly knew of when we were back in high school then. In the second email, I told her of what I think of her advice given to me on the issue of what fortunately beautiful girls seek in their Prince Charming. I do admit that I may not be of a reliable source for that matter, but since she had been so openhearted with it, I could not turn down the chance of saying my own piece of counsel.

We were referring to a specific girl in that conversation, whom was also her dearest friend and my ex-schoolmate, and knowing that the past could not be changed and we could only learn from it, I expressed my deepest of sympathy. She had all the things in the world that could make a girl happy, but still her eyes were plagued by loneliness.

The difference between the way the sexes view their love destinies is a whole chasm of divide and contradiction. Girls roam the singles world with an ideal mold in their hands, looking for the best fit that could be found in such a short life span. From one guy to another, they seek a perfect fit, which usually is too idealistic for a real person. The slightest flaw is exaggerated and will be emphasized in their decision-making. Charm is an accessory but physical grandeur is vital. Witty truthful sarcasm is a pain in the neck but shallow sexist humor is captivatingly lovable.

Only when gravity has won and time has aged, when sagging of skin is a chore to conceal, when plunging necklines are literary plunging, would they tolerate the flaws of those who are still there, faithful and waiting. How true it is the adage that nice guys finish last when winners run out of gas.

Boys, however, are really instinctively direct. Like the animals they are, they roam the fields in search of the most convenient hunt. What they see is what they get. Avoidable risks are a burden to their backbone. Why bother cooking a meal when you could call a pizza delivery? Life is as simple as their insights.

I am very grateful to those who are brave enough to admit their admiration towards my essays (especially to that somebody who emailed me for it, you know who you are). They understand that when a writer writes, he becomes somebody who is not necessarily representing him in reality. Legendary writers have successfully blurred the boundary that separates reality and fiction and manipulated such condition to the interest of the story’s originality and zest. Only those who are persistent with the burdens of readings of two lines and masking of ideas with analogies and enchanting prose would savor the sweetness of creative storytelling.