I’d Share My Work, But Then I’d Have to Make Eye Contact.

I’ve been doing this for a while now—writing, sketching, collecting half-thoughts like receipts in a Notes app graveyard. This isn’t me “starting.” This is me finally moving things from the shadows of my head into somewhere with actual gravity. A real place. A blog.

Will people read this? Maybe not. The algorithm might ghost me. I’m not losing sleep over it anymore. This isn’t a pitch. It’s a release.

Sometimes I want to share my work. But then I imagine someone reading it, looking up at me with that quiet judgment in their eyes—Ah, so this is who you really are? And just like that, I’m slamming the digital door shut. Again.

Years ago, I nuked my old Twitter. Deleted the Facebook rants too. 2009-me thought sarcasm was a personality trait. I posted like I was trying to win an award for “most emotionally unavailable with a punchline.” Kababain la unay.

Turns out, not everyone knows how to read tone online. Apparently “joking” doesn't translate well without context or eyebrows. By my mid-twenties, Mr. Self-Awareness showed up...late, but with receipts. He knocked politely on the door of my anxiety and whispered, Maybe stop treating your inner monologue like it’s a TED Talk?

So now I write. Quietly. Off-camera. In a world where everyone’s face is thumbnail-sized and yelling at you to "like and subscribe." People narrate their lives like they’re auditioning for Netflix. Meanwhile, I’m over here rehearsing how to say “hi” on a work call without sounding like I just got reanimated.

I don’t have a niche or aesthetic or a curated grid. I don’t speak in content strategy. I write because something in me still needs to. Not for followers, not for brand deals. Just to feel like I’m assembling something real.

I’m not hiding. But I’m not performing either. This isn’t content. This is compost—broken-down pieces that might become something one day.

No face reveal. No room tour. Not yet.

Right now, it’s practice. Not for “someday.” For today.

I’m learning rhythm, not virality. I’m chasing clarity, not clout. I study Key & Peele sketches like film school. I steal lines from overheard conversations. I care now, which is terrifying.

I still feel like a mess. Still don’t have a style guide for my personality. No brand colors. No strong hook. But with every blog, every draft, every fragmented paragraph...I’m laying down one more piece.

The picture’s not clear yet.

But it’s coming together.

And maybe one day, I’ll be ready to share it all. Maybe I’ll show my face. Maybe I’ll even make eye contact.

Just not today.

Today, this will do.