Privacy vs Identity.

Original Photo by ulrikft

Will I ever be able to enjoy a cigarette without a drink, or a Mentos? I think the answer is No.

Will I ever be able to blog spontaneously, like I imagine bloggers like Ala Paredes do? I think, also, that the answer is No.

I will forever be that blogger who edits, re-edits, saves as draft, re-reads, then publishes. I don't know how to say this without sounding like all I want to do is talk about my self-centered... self, but there is too much at stake here. Who knows who reads my blog? Who knows what assumptions they make about me?

Why do I even blog? What is this inexplicable desire to be published? The thing is, I find that the more I am "published", the worse I get. The less there is to talk about without stepping on someone's toes. Without giving too much information. Without it getting to my conservative (i.e. private) family. Without it getting to my dad.

I mean, just earlier tonight, I was sitting quietly, browsing through my newfound obsession Google Fast Flip when my dad comes up to me and goes:

"I just saw your pictures on Facebook. With Marj. Apparently at a birthday celebration last week."

Now, there are a few things about my dad that you should know. (Well, not "you SHOULD know", but you know what I meant.)

1. My baba is super cool. He's alright with stuff as long as I'm up front with him about it. He likes to discuss things, so the only setback I face when I need his permission to do anything is the 30-minute discussion we have before anything gets done. It sounds easy enough, especially since I can talk myself out of anything, HOWEVER, my dad is also a master pwner. If I so much as hesitate for a half-second when he asks me a question about whatever it is I'm going to be doing, he gives me That Look.

Long story short, if I get That Look, I must away to my room and sulk, like all teenagers my age, for having lost the age-old battle between evil and good.

It's the law at my father's house. If you can argue it, you win it. If you can't, well, simply put, fuck off.

2. My dad is also forgetful. He misses details, or he forgets them. Maybe because he's older now, or maybe because he just can't be bothered (he is, after all, a guy).

But he is still a master pwner.

3. My dad is on Facebook. I don't think I have to explain how frustrating this fact is; no matter how close you are to your parent, he or she or they are still the worst people to have to add on to your Facebook account.

And this is one of the things he is cool about. I've told him up front, to his face, that I will not, and will NEVER add him as a friend on Facebook, because I don't want him in my business. If he would like to know anything about me, he has only to ask. (Sure.)

I like to think that my friends and I share this opinion. In fact, I know they do. But I have missed one very important fact:

My father is not my friend Marj's father, therefore, she will add him on Facebook.

Another very important fact:

Marj had forgotten to put my father on her Limited Profile list.

It's not really a big deal, hey. Last week, I took out Marj for a little birthday dinner. We did the usual: hung out with friends at a cafe (Jeddah, you understand), took pictures, laughed, did the presents, blah blah. Actually, I lie. This is unusual. It is our first sober birthday celebration. Ever. (We never celebrated birthdays until college, when we realized how much free booze a birthday celebrant can get.)

A very important subplot in this story: I had neglected to tell my father of this heinous crime. He was under the impression that I was at work all last week.

So, when my father casually remarks about the photos, I just as casually go:

"You clearly don't remember what I look like. I have looked through Marj's pictures and there isn't one of me."

He: "Oh, yes. There are a couple pictures of you. You even made faces. Here, I'll show you. She updated her albums just now." (Goddamnit he spends too much time on this bullshit website.)

Me: [browsing quickly through her pictures] "Where?! Where?! See?! Nothing! Those are HER friends!" (At this point, I couldn't help but get so high-pitched I might have scared my dad.)

He: "Ah, there. There you are. See? Nice hair."

And yep. There I was. Nice hair, indeed. She had posted it.

Me: "Ohhhh, THAT. [too-loud laughter]. HAHAHAHA. Yeah. That. I forgot about that. We went to Teayana. That's a nice picture of me, yeah?"

He: [giving me That Look] "Yes. Nice picture."

Then he walks away.

So, yes, dear friends. At this point, you are probably wondering what this all has to do with the image I posted above. In due time, you shall see. (Apart from the fact that it's just a kickass photo.)

I wonder if I am alone in this little alter-ego business I've got going on. I'm a pretty transparent person, and I am the same with my friends as I am with my family. However, there are just some things that I don't share with either group.

This of course contradicts my need to have an online presence. On the one hand, I should have nothing to hide. After all, my favorite topic is, well, myself. I like to take credit for whatever eggheadism I put out here, and I like meeting new people.

On the other hand, I like the feeling of anonymity that a pen name and the internet gives. Mainly so that if people feel like hurling crap in my direction for my idle nonsense, at least they don't know where to hit me.

You know what I mean?

So that is the question.

Truly.

To be? Or not to be?