Death of a blog

Familiar faces are a great source of calm. Private, familiar blogs -- more so. The faceless anonymity that blogging offers is a treasure if you are looking to let people know your private fears and disappointments, and yet nobody should know who you are. A blog like this serves its purpose only till the point when the fears and disappointments haunt you. No more afterwards.

Life has handed everyone enough miseries, and we all would love to share it with everyone else. The sadist in us loves seeing others in pain, to know that we're better off. Remember post-secret? This blog has done its part in being the post-secret of my life. Strangely, romantic things that bring us the greatest joy are also the source of our greatest sorrow. Being a misogynist is so much better, that way, since you know for sure that all you want is to cause pain: you will not repent it. And in turn, you'll expect pain: you will not be deluded into believing that a relationship can bring you happiness.

After some time, the need to confess anonymously and to find faceless help ends. When realization dawns in, you don't really bother whether someone approves or disapproves of your actions: you don't need anyone else's judgement to justify your own existence.

The kingdom of black has served its purpose for me. I belong to the skies. My parents named me such: and I shall roam free. The scorpion in me has stung its enemies enough... I now need to find my shelter. Don't bother commenting: I wouldn't reply. I will also quit visiting all your blogs -- have been masquerading to visit from my company's VPN and therefore all IP traces will be from America.

I am tempted to delete all old posts. But I'll let them be: just in case they help someone else who lives through the same turmoil. The Black King will now retire into hermitage. Shanti, Shanti, Shanti...