Reading old tweets
Some read old blog entries and ask, “where did that part of me go?” I have those moments too, upon reading actual blog entries of mine from way, way back. But today, reading old tweets make me feel like I’m on a brink of despising myself.
2011 has been a pretty good and bad year for me. It’s composed of some of the best and worst feelings I’ve yet to discover then. And going through all my emotional outbursts in that social networking site which entitles me to post my thoughts in a 140 characters or less, I think that I’ve said too much before.
I’ve become too transparent then, but I’ve also been too safe with my feelings. It’s a mixture of both because I can say that I can’t be too honest nor too mysterious with my tweets then. I’m nowhere in between. I’m constantly shifting between the two sides of extremes.
I overthink, overfeel, and over *insert any verb appropriate here* during my first ever heartbreak which occured last year that I reading them now urges me to delete my twitter account. But what’s holding me back is the same reason I want to delete it: as much as I want to forget its existence, I still don’t want to lose it.
All the good and the bad, the way I was before, and the way I am today, everything won’t make sense if I didn’t take a peek at my past.
Maybe in some distant future, I’ll have a concrete decision on what to do with it, whether to delete it, just let it there, or resurrect it. But for now, I’ll just let it be.