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  1. Ok... here's goes nothing. My blog. Scratch that - my FIRST blog EVER.

    I've always heard people talk about blogging, and I've always wondered "what exactly is blogging?" To be honest I actually googled the term before even writing this! I had not a clue as to what I should be rambling about. And still, I find it difficult to grasp the fact that anyone would want to read a bunch of my thoughts.

    I've never been good at keeping a diary. I feel like it becomes a source of unnecessary pressure: the frequent updates, drama, conflicts, etc. I've just never been able to sit down and write about my life. I've tried it all from the beautiful laced journals with inspirational quotes bordering each page, to the online communities like
    I just can't do it. But I want to. So I've decided to tackle this: a blog. Who knows how it will go. Who knows where it will lead. I'm sort of just doing my own thing here so bear with me!

    If there is one thing I'm good at with diaries, however, it's finding and reading them. There's something so personal and raw about a diary that I find it difficult NOT to read one. In fact, just the other day my mom had left here's lying out on the kitchen table. THE KICTHEN TABLE! C'mon that sucker is just BEGGING to be read. So I picked it up, flipped through its glossy pages, and read the first few sentences my eyes rested upon. I scanned a few more pages before finally putting the slender journal down, regretting what I had done. I almost felt like I had betrayed my own mother. I read her thoughts - things I didn't want to know about. Things about the possible divorce.

    It's weird. This whole divorce thing is new to me. It's sort of like a foreign word I can't pronounce... or maybe it's that I don't want to pronounce it. It's like this rush of emotions: anger, sadness, frustration, guilt - they all run through me at the same time.

    I hate him sometimes. I hate her sometimes. But, deep down I love them both. But it's weird to think about. I mean this family; this family that I've been born into is ending. Nineteen years of memories. Sure, some good, some bad. But, memories nonetheless.

    God, I don't know. More later possibly. We'll see if this whole blog thing ends up working out. Maybe I just need some place to let everything out.

    Who knows!?