I Got Blogged.

Gotta have me a strong cup of coffee to go figure how I got blogged on The Datin Diaries, and how it made me want to start my own blog and how I learnt hard how to write that after a year I finally got the courage to start Bergen Test hoping that no one will laugh at the way I construct my sentences and yes how my sentences can go on and on about a couple of miles without a comma to give middle age readers just enough space for a pause to catch their breath before coming to a full stop.

It took me a year to decide on what to write since I figured there was nothing interesting about my life worth reading and I didn't want to be arrested for keeping people bored to death with entries about a wild night out on a town with the guys, spending all the money on wine women and songs since this wasn't the kind a stuff people my age with a nice family living in the middle class neighbourhood would want to read. In the end I decided to write about the truth, the things I do. Afterall it is my blog and I deserve the right to tell the truth being very careful not to sound arrogant because there is no reason to be arrogant about the things I do since I do what I do and I don't bother no one and I don't owe anyone any money and I am not all that easy to be friend with unless we've gone through the bitter tests one after another.

And so I wrote about John Guling.

And Australian Women's Weekly.

And How To Be A Caregiver.

And things to write about just kept coming and I kept writing, sometimes three entries a day. In most cases I got the entries all lined up on stand-by to be published back to back. It was interesting. All of a sudden I found an outlet to express myself, writing, and telling in my own fashion an event that happened long time ago. And I took up sketching, again. Unfortunately sketching reminded me of my childhood. In restropect it wasn't a bad thing since sketching took me back and forth, journeying through my childhood, my senses fully alert to the vivid details, color, smell, sound and even the pain, and laughter. Names of people long ago forgotten came back. I saw them in my sleep. I saw them when I closed my eyes.

Writing can do wonders to unearth the memories. And if I found myself unable to write a sentence, I'd pick up my sketchbook to draw an object such as a pair of shoes, or a broken toy, a relic from the past, or the future so that I can understand what I am going through today.

I made friends. Fellow bloggers. I even met some of them in real life, something I never thought I'd do. And how glad I was to make that decision to meet them. They are nice people with a big heart. They made me feel good, good to have real people to connect with.

And then I wrote about Catherine.

And that made me lonely.

So lonely that I made Tesco almost my second home.

And then I met her.

And then we exchanged sms and called each other on the phone.

I thought I was in love.

Because I thought she was too.

But I was wrong.

But that's life.

You are not supposed to get what you want.

Life is about living with what you don't have.

And move on.

And write blogs.

And sketch.