And then I went quiet again.

I’ve said it before, and it sounds so very weak, but I always think of saying it again, of swearing: I think of writing mostly every day. It is the habit of doing it that I have lost, and my voice along with that. Once upon a time, oh so long ago now, I wrote frequently and, miracle of miracles, fluidly at times too; largely about indiepop, it’s true, but also about being in love with the world, and about growing up. This was, and in fact it still is since I never got round to changing it, this blog’s tagline: growing up, being in love with the world, and indiepop. And the strangest thing is that what started out as something I hastily filled in in the summer of 2005 while setting this blog up ended up being the perfect summary of everything I was to write about.

So there once was a time, oh so long ago now, when I was young and silly and I had a head full of dreams and I opened up my heart to the whole world. The days when trying to capture thoughts and feelings into words seemed like a most worthwhile, almost magical thing to do — when words made things happen. Mostly, they brought me together with people that were more like me than anybody I had met before. For a few years I made friends left right and centre with an ease that was as novel as it turned out to be short lived, and I breathed a huge sigh of relief. It was okay to be me, it was okay to be so very strange and different. But those years ended — with what seemed at the time to be a happily ever after ending but which in retrospect was more of a crash and a bang; people moved on, went their separate ways; indiepop stopped being the number one thing that made my world go round; I lost some of my certainties, gained some new ones; and in the process, I lost the voice that I had found. Or rather, I outgrew it, and never got round to finding a new one.

Hence, the silence.