Because I like my writing tree
I'm not going to lie—I get a little obsessed with checking my analytics page after publishing a post. How many are reading, or at least clicking? Do they like what they read? Is anyone interested in what I have to say?
I know there are some people here who have chosen to hide the upvote count on their blogs, as worrying about their posts' popularity brings some form of anxiety. I don't quite share that experience, since I do have my moments of rebellion and can be quite indifferent to wanting to fit in with what's popular or trendy.
I don't feel anxious about my posts' lack of popularity. What I do feel, however, is a slight annoyance and disappointment that the reads (or clicks, to be precise) are generally low, before my posts quickly disappear into oblivion on the discovery feed. Are my post titles really that uninteresting that they're easily dismissed and readily scrolled past?
I know I'm not an amazing writer, but I think I've been writing pretty decently here, and it feels like a bit of a shame that my words are not getting read as much as I'd like them to. It's not self-validation as a writer that I'm seeking but rather a recognition of my craft, kind of like a I-think-I-made-something-cool-wanna-see-it?
I see what gets upvoted and what trends, and there is a visible pattern in what type of content proves popular. I'm positive that if I had named my last post Why I quit social media ten years ago, I'd probably have gotten more views than I actually did with the title that I went with. Those are the kinds of titles that get clicks and upvotes, that trend. And those also are the kinds of titles that I often scroll past in search of something more interesting and arresting, something more—poetic.
Now there's nothing wrong with those titles, by the way; they're accurate, serviceable and (to their credit) also aren't clickbaity. However, they're just a little ordinary and a little boring (to me). In the end, it all boils down to personal preference, and I have come to accept that my taste differs from the masses in this regard.
Back home, brand names (I don't mean luxury and high-end here, but various big names) have mass appeal, and there are always new chains coming in from overseas to set up shop. To my incredulity, there'll always be long lines on opening day for yet another coffee chain or restaurant that I've, once again, never heard of. Now I know there are still plenty of people who share similar sentiments as me. Nevertheless, it seems that there is a sizeable bunch of my fellow countrymen who enjoy chasing after the latest fad and the next new trend. I mean the markets certainly cater to them.
I can't understand the appeal, though. I do visit chain stores from time to time, but they all carry the same vibe—modern, professional, and a little soulless, if I may add—which is why I really appreciate the many small local shops I've seen here in my time abroad.1 They're often so cosy and full of character that they're just interesting to walk by or step into and browse. It's a real pity that back in my home country, these kinds of small businesses often struggle to stay afloat and fail to survive against the big chains.
Back to what I was saying about blogging, for a while I deliberated if I should submit my blog to a blogroll in order to gain a little more visibility. I hesitated each time I made that consideration but have now ultimately decided against doing so. Besides, I've never been one to feel comfortable about self-promotion in the first place.
At the end of the day, I have decided that I want this space to remain authentic (not that I ever considered gearing away from this) and for its growth to be organic.
Thus I will continue to write the words that I would like to read and name my posts with the kinds of titles that I would like to click on. I will keep on writing for myself—I am the reader and client I cater to; I am the boss I listen to, and because I like my tree, my writing tree at least.
I'm no one but me.
Grandma once told me that everyone is like a tree. Trees come in all different shapes and sizes. You can't choose what kind of tree you are, but you can choose how to grow. And you can decorate yourself in any way you like!
It doesn't matter how big your tree is. It's whether you like your tree, that's what counts!
—Can I Build Another Me? by Shinsuke Yoshitake2
And I hope that I will come to like my tree in its entirety as well—as I choose how I grow and decorate myself.
Hence, all that you find here will be unapologetically me.3 And should you happen to venture to these parts and pass my little shop on your way, here are some thoughts I have regarding your journey, as the keeper of this place.
Whether you walk by without looking or glance then go your way, step in and out after a quick browse or perhaps a slightly longer stay, send a friendly greeting or slip in and out silently—do whatever you like; nothing is ever obligatory, and that's exactly how I would like it to be.
But to the few who linger, who find something more in these shelves and make this place a regular haunt—thank you. I am amazed and grateful for the strange way that letters on a page and the words from my head can somehow bring us to this moment of connection.
Thank you for reading, and thank you—for liking my writing tree.
On that note, I would like to share some of the writing trees that I like. Whether it is because I enjoy the writing style, am interested in the content or can relate to the experiences—something in these writings arrests me and keeps me reading. And perhaps they may do the same for you :)
The blogroll has been moved to a new location.
Please move in an orderly fashion through this door →
Going off on a tangent, another thing I've really liked seeing here abroad is how old-fashioned things haven't gone out of fashion here. Recently, at a Christmas market, I watched children riding a carousel that looked like it came straight from the workshop of Caractacus Potts of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. It ran on pedal power by one or two enthusiastic parents on bikes, and the seats were made of various junk parts. There was a bathtub submarine, a fan aeroplane and a birdcage! To my surprise, the birdcage turned out to be rather popular. I suppose there's just something about sitting at the top of a ladder for a bird's-eye view. There was also another ride where helmet-clad kids would hop on bikes and pedal a small vehicle around a track. It was all so refreshing. Local craftsmanship is apparent here, and I really prefer that to how factory-churned and imported most things are back home.↩
I stumbled upon this gem of a book in one of the few English bookshops here. It's a picture book (originally written in Japanese), and I found it in the children's section. Somehow I feel that Shinsuke Yoshitake might have had adults in mind when he wrote and illustrated his books because they are so, so relatable. Nonetheless, my four-year-old also thoroughly enjoys his stories. I own another two titles—Is it Just Me? and Why Do I Feel Like This?—which I got from the same bookshop. I find that Shinsuke Yoshitake has a knack for capturing the human experience and the subconscious thoughts we have in an interesting and humorous way. I will not spoil his books for you, as it was such a pleasure to read them without any prior expectation—to flip each page in anticipation and then be pleasantly surprised by his words and illustrations. I really enjoy his books, and I highly recommend checking them out.↩
I used to think that I had to like certain things because they were the ideal things to like, in order to be sophisticated. I have since concluded, even more so after my time here, that I can't appreciate fine art, have little patience at museums and do not gravitate towards classical music—and that that is all okay. I have conceded that I am uncultured and have no interest to be cultured as well. Politics bores me, my general knowledge is poor, and I will surely fail miserably in a geography/world knowledge quiz. Hitting closer to home—my reading taste is not eclectic; I don't know obscure words and have no interest in finding out their meanings when I come across them; and I also can't appreciate poetry most of the time because the meaning often flies over my head. I used to want to find interest in these things or be good at them, but now I'm done. Life is too short for trying to like the things I'm inherently uninterested in or to feel bad about not doing so. I shall like what I like, mainstream or not. After all, I'm no one but me.↩