What do you want to write about, Soups?

Whenever I’m about to start a blog post, this is what I always ask myself first. Usually, my mind supplies with the greatest answers of all time.

Here are some of them:

  1. Death
  2. Depression
  3. Rant about an argument that happened either recently/a few years ago
  4. Heck if I know???
  5. Sad thoughts (more controlled thanks to antidepressants)
  6. Random stories from my life

A lot of the stuff I want to write about is basically me just wanting to tell the truth to another person but feeling scared that they might get hurt with what I say. I have wholeheartedly embraced the truth: I’m an asshole. I tend to say things that make other people hate me or make them sad. It’s not that what I’m saying is the truth, it’s just that it ends up being offensive because I am a tactless idiot.

I talk about this because there are a ton of blogs out there that have such amazing content. They’ve obviously done their research. Photographs, lists of places to visit, editing (my posts are an editor’s nightmare: the first draft), or even maybe sponsorships from companies that want to get noticed.

Compared to this pile of shit (okay, I’ll be a bit reasonable, it’s just a half-assed blog from me tbh), other blogs look friggin amazing, okay?

I kind of honestly don’t care. Other people can blog about fashion, design, travel, or photography, I say go forth and do whatever you want to do! I just want to write. Or sometimes maybe share the stuff I’m thinking about. You can’t really help but compare, though.

Sometimes I think, hey, maybe it would be a good idea to actually put some effort into this blog. Trust me, I have tons of drafts. In fact, I take several photos of places I visit just so I could review them here on my blog. Gulugud Baboy and Tagaytay, for instance. I’ve got all the photos and I’ve got the post in my head, I just have to write it.

I’m not really aiming to make money with this, though. I just want to share shit to my one viewer (hi, friend!).

Maybe I should cater and attempt to try *10 restaurants in manila you should try with the barkada* or *5 ways to know you’re headed for a break-up*, it would be a fun exercise to do that sort of stuff. I don’t know. I used to do it before.

I’m not really sure. It’s five in the morning. I haven’t slept at all. The clock is ticking loudly against the tap of my fingers against the keyboard. Random vehicles are roaming outside, I hear the chickens roosting outside. I’m on the floor in the living room, tired as hell but I can’t sleep. I’m actually in a daze right now.

Things are weird. I’m weird. The world is not my oyster. The world is my cave. The further I go in it, the darker and more echo-y it gets.

My eyes are drooping and threatening to retire for the night (morning?). I’m going to bed.