Start. Stop. Delete.

These days I can't write.

I have everything, and nothing, to write about.

I write about things that make me happy, things that make me sad, things that irk me, things that dissappoint me. I start this long rant about it. Stop. And then press the delete button.

I find that I exercise more censorship on what I write about these days. I'm no longer one to bare my soul out for the world to see, nor leave my heart on my sleeve, exposed to all and sundry.

Perhaps this is wisdom.

I saw this quote, "There is no safety for honest men except by believing all possible evil of evil men" by Edmund Burke and it hit me how true it was. And how naive and idealistic my believe that people are essentially good.

Being able to make your voice heard, even to a small group, gives you power. Power to influence, power to persuade, power to speak out. And with that power comes the responsibility to use it correctly.

Some people use it to defame and slander others. This is usually someone they used to care for, no less.

And it irks me when people do that. I think it's a really childish, immature thing to do, and it doesn't matter whether one writes wistfully about it, or vindictively, it's still, in my books, quite distasteful.

At the end of the day, everyone has their own versions of a story. There will always be a neverending tug of war between he-says/she-says. We all perceive things differently.

Recently I found out that someone I knew was writing mean, horrible things about me. Worst of all, they were untruths that if I wanted, I could've easily set right, shaming the person in the process. I was so angry... but curbed myself from action.

I woke up in the morning and thought again what I ought to do about it. Should I confront the person? Should I correct what s/he said?

Then I decided that it wasn't worth it. I'm not out to prove myself. I don't feel the need to prove myself. Because at the end of the day, it's enough for me that my friends know me, and the people who read that, and believed/formed opinions about me based on that, I really don't need in my life. The last thing I need is for judgemental people in my life.

Today I re-read that entry the person wrote about me. Objectively, not as me, but as if the subject was someone I didn't know.

I realised that the whole entry was more telling of the writer rather than about the subject. About how bitter the person it, and how the person really needs to settle his/her issues, and move on.

Curiousity prompted me to read more backdated entries. And the more I read, the more I realised that the person wasn't who I thought s/he was.

I want to say that I was dissapointed, but I then realised that I didn't care at all.