The Life of a Blogger

I’m not obliged but my senses feel like one.

At first, I enter my blogging habit as a hobby. I just want to input all of my stressors, to spew out all of my bad feelings; I just used it as a portal to express my inner self.

But as days had passed, I never thought that this hobby would cling seriously into me just like of how alcohol fuse with those drunkard. I feel like I’m totally into it, it had been my devotion; it occupied a portion of my life.

From designing it based on my personal taste, posting my journal entries as my blog posts, sharing it to my different social network accounts to gain audience, reviewing statistics for my page views, thinking for another post, and updating from day to day. The life of a blogger is difficult but enthusing.

Seeing comments and satisfying feedbacks replace the burden of letter-by-letter entering of every thought to the computer. The audiences I’m not ought to create an invisible string with me; a string that kept me attached a string so inseparable, a string so intact.

The life of a blogger is not all about the burden and of my thoughts but the audience hooked, religiously reading my posts, little by little building up a sort of relationship, imbibing some sense on issues raised and tackled.

I had loved being a blogger. And as I trek this kind of life, though not obligated, will hold responsibility to the people I write for.