An Accidental Revisit

This is going to be an impromptu post! I had a sudden urge to write one after I accidentally revisited my previous Tumblr fandom blog, which just happened earlier today.

I left this blog about three years ago, and it was one of the hardest decisions I had to make. It might sound silly that I say that, but... I invested so much of my time into this blog. I taught myself how to use Photoshop for fandom-related graphics and GIFS, I procrastinated on my homework, I stayed up until late at night—all just for this blog. As a result, I gathered a rather large following from what I did—from reblogging and occasionally creating. I made a couple friends. Some "Tumblr famous" people acknowledged what I made sometimes. A bunch of new followers would trickle in everyday. And I had never felt so accomplished.

What this blog looks like now

But eventually, I became extremely self-conscious about everything. The follower count became extremely important to me. I only reblogged "pretty" photos and posts that would look nice on my page. I dismissed "ugly" looking ones that wouldn't look nice in a split second. I fervently set up queues for whenever I couldn't log on Tumblr. Regrettably, at the peak of my blog's existence, I lost the essence of what it meant to be a fandom blog. Blogging on Tumblr became overwhelmingly constructive. I felt like I was only searching for what would make me look good... and not enjoying the process. And sadly, I kept eyeing that damn follower count.

That damn follower count.

I'm not exaggerating when I say losing followers started feeling like losing some of my integrity.

Before long, I felt like I was being holed up in a very small box. I had a debate with myself for a while about leaving, and I never could come to a conclusion. But after taking a week-long break from the blog (which was so hard to do at first), I realized I was missing out on life because of this blog. I took a new breath of air. And I left. I felt so liberated afterwards, not gonna lie.

I still have another Tumblr blog that I use leisurely, the one that's listed down on this page. And just now, noticing my old Tumblr blog was still "following" me on my current account, I absentmindedly hovered my cursor over the username from which, to my surprise, the little blog preview window popped up. I saw my last three posts, one of which was my farewell post.

I was taken aback, but I immediately clicked on it. I saw my last post, which I completely forgot about, titled "Leaving" that simply read, "when you read this, i'll have left this blog already." I tagged, "thanks for everything guys" with a smiley face.

WHOOSH, I instantly went on a FEEL TRIP just from reading that. THAT ONE SIMPLE LINE THAT THE PAST ME COMPOSED THREE YEARS AGO.

I saw three comments under that post.

I never knew about these comments because I swore not to look back after I left, not until I finally got over everything. Reading them now, three years later, gave me a dull, wistful ache in my chest. One comment was a frantic one, which I chuckled at, and the other two were sweet farewell messages, one of which was from a friendly mutual follower of mine. I smiled nostalgically at these comments, but... I felt sad from seeing them.

For a second, I regretted that I left. Maybe I should've stayed. Maybe I could've dealt with my issues in a different way, rather than completely setting aside my blog for which I worked so damn hard to make known among the community.

But thinking about it, I learned from my leaving. Now, I use my Tumblr account more healthily. Now, if I create something about a subject, it's for expressing how I feel about the subject, not for acquiring a following. Because of my leaving, I gradually overcame my long-held obsession of being on the Internet. So maybe... maybe leaving was the right thing to do. It was difficult to let go of all my creations, to let go of my still growing reputation, to let go of everything tied to that account, but I'm wiser now about using social media.

In the long run, I know that's what matters more.