The other night, I felt the strange sensation to delete this part of me because the present needed to exist independent of the past which I realise is a physical impossibility. As much as one may try and escape the past, the future is dependent on the past and vice versa, consequently making the removal of one another incomprehensible; the past, present and future exist co dependently for good reason. Despite this obvious notion, there was another dimension to this overwhelming compulsion to erase; the dissatisfaction with the content of this particular blog became increasingly apparent moving ever closer to the forefront of my conscience. This blog was started when I wasn't particularly happy therefore becoming a means of escape and a chance to fulfil the self that yearned for an existence in a concrete reality.
Therefore, I felt I needed a change, an escape from the escape but I didn't want to give up the blog I so adored and that, although rather cliché, did elevate a path of self discovery. Hence, I deleted every post except one. The only piece of writing that I found truly representative of my current reality, writing which demonstrated a renewed passion for life as a consequence of travelling. Reading this piece of text was what stopped me deleting the entire blog, for I have no lofty expectations of the people reading this or vain notions that there are people invested in what I publish, but for me, I could not rid my present of this past. I understand that life is a perpetual state of transformation, but this blog became a chore and not a means of self expression.
I do not want to start again, but experience a renaissance if you will..