Something that fascinates me about the Internet is not how much information there is to gain, but how much information is stored. Recently, I was mucking about online. I searched Amazon for another 99 cent phone case or another unnecessary piece of hipsteresque room decor to go with my stereotypical “Forest Fantasy” wall tapestry. I mindlessly browsed Reddit, indulging myself in yet another cat picture binge. I skimmed BuzzFeed and Thought Catalog, taking a quiz about which is my power color (it’s pink, if you were wondering) and read another hopeless listicle. And finally, Facebook. Amid my daily cyber-creep on the Book of Face, I came across a status update from a friend who had just recently traveled abroad. She posted her final travel blog post. And although I wouldn’t have ordinarily taken the time to read it, strangely, it snapped me from my internet agenda.
Her galavants took her through tropical Thailand; jungles, curry, elephants, waterfalls and things. After finishing, I felt weirdly cathartic, and weirdly emotional. My heart yearned to start a blog and then I realized that I had one. A travel blog, no less. After a few minutes and a Google search, I found this very page. It was frozen in internet time, my last update from over a year ago. I spent an hour or so reading my posts, which also pulled on my heartstrings and gave me a refreshing dunk into deep end of one of the best times of my life. However, the one thing that I took away from reading someone else’s travel blog and rereading my travel blog, is that, more than wanting to go back out and travel the world, I want to write. I want to blog. So, I am resurrecting this old page from the archival internet graveyard.
Although I won’t be sitting in posh cafes or strolling along Italian canals or eating late night tapas or chasing the sunrise with charming gentlemen after a night out, there are still beautiful nuggets of life that I still experience without all of the romanticism. But I will say that there is still a consistent amount of cocktail consumption post-Barcelona (thank God that hasn’t changed.) I find that in my daily doings, there are still words that etch themselves into my brain as I participate in the silence of a fairly ordinary, but wonderful life. And those are the words I want to write now.
So let me reintroduce myself: my name is Jessica, I am 22 years old, and I have no idea what I’m doing.
And this is my blog.