I was in a bit of a quandary most of last week. I didn’t know what to write and post today. A few ideas/topics were jostling for space in my head. Most of them seemed oddly familiar. Very déjà vu’ish.

No surprise there. I only write about stuff I think I know, and know I like. The experiences I’ve had, am having and hope to have. Desserts and holidays, mainly. A fair bit about my mum. Retelling my mum’s stories including detailing her recipes. Her evolving health situation. A few posts on my siblings, and family. Some stuff that interests or irks me – nature, people, attitudes, broken pavements, disparities in life, and politics. A handful of not-quite ‘reviews’ but my take on movies/series on Netflix that I feel were worth watching and sharing. Also, memories of my childhood.

A debate ensued in my head. If a topic seemed somewhat similar or related, did it matter? And if it did, to whom? Who was I writing for? The point of my weblog/blog was to write what I wanted. To select a topic. Write one story per week, and enjoy the process of writing. That was pretty much it.

Unlike when I was assigned stories to write as a journalist. I enjoyed it but it was a job. For sure, I didn’t and couldn’t not write a story after attending press conferences or interviews. This is true. One of my early assignments as a rookie was a staid seminar on taxation and auditing. I attended it with a senior journalist, who was supposed to show me the ropes. He was convinced that no story could be generated from the seminar.

My editor, on the other hand, was convinced there was no such thing as no story.  Particularly, after he had assigned two of his staff to the event. A whole morning. No story. No way. Being the new kid on the block, I hadn’t yet learnt to magic up a lead and produce a story for the boss’s perusal and approval.  In a state of panic, I rifled through my notes, and came up with six paragraphs of words that were not worthy of publication. My editor’s succinct proclamation remains etched in my brain. ‘There is no such thing as no story. There will always be an angle if you listen/look hard enough.’  

Back to my blog. I started it in late 2017. Yes, that long ago. That was about the time that I stopped doing public relations but still took on standalone projects. To-date, I’ve written 253 stories. Not too many. Once weekly, except for the two occasions when I messed up and posted two stories in the same two weeks. 

One was a technical slip-up. I remember it. It was a story about the versatility of Vicks VapoRub. How it has stood the test of time. My grandmother, and my mother swore/swear by it. I don’t swear by it but still readily use it. At the first sign of sniffles, coughs, colds, or just for comfort. For me, it’s more the latter. It soothes. Not cures. An opinion shared by my mum’s palliative doctor. She is happy for my mum to use Vicks or Kwan Loong medicated oil if it gives her comfort, relief and sometimes, recovery.

The other was a more recent mistake.  I forgot to be mindful, and mindlessly posted an unedited story that I was writing about my mum. There was a time that my mum, lived with my husband and me, for several years. She was self-reliant. Well enough to cook rice and dhal, bake flapjacks and cheese and raisin scones. Fit enough to walk purposefully for an hour daily in our condominium. Her exercise regime. She used to pray for hours at my altar, which is in my office, as I worked at my desk. Intermittently, we had conversations. My lunch break was lunch with her. My mum moved into her own condominium with a little hesitance, and a lot of help from sister number 4. She adapted quickly. Before long, she was happy and content with her new found freedom and space. Hesitant to then leave her pad. All that seems like a lifetime ago.

Memories/recollections/happenings. Cashes of them were/are what I didn’t consider nor appreciate about writing a personal blog. Yes, I was a journalist but I wrote business stories. Yes, I was in public relations but I only focused on corporate-skewed press releases and speeches. Writing my thoughts and feelings (not all) in a blog allows me to revisit, remember and relive events and situations. It enables me to bring together and make sense of information, nuances, pleasant surprises and unintentional secrets particularly during conversations that I’ve had/have with my mum. And, to document stories.

For me, writing continues to be enjoyable, and it helps me be aware and think about stuff.