Brave New Girl

For this assignment we had to write about someone that uses public space as private space. I figured everyone else would write about homeless people so I wanted to do something a little more outside of the box. I'm definately not the kind of blogger that I'm writing about below, but I do think it's a modern example of someone using private space as public space.
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I don’t speak loudly on my cell phone when I’m standing in line at Starbucks. I don’t put on makeup in my car. I don’t breastfeed without cover in the mall, or urinate in public places. I don’t make out in hot, crowded bars or stand too close to people when I’m talking to them. I’ve never shaved my legs in an airport bathroom or been naked in public. I’m braver than that. I write. I am a blogger.

I share something that’s much more personal than my conversations, my body or my rituals of hygiene. I fill the internet with the details of my convictions, my heart and my soul. I reveal details of the dreams fragmented by anxiety, the throb and glitter of looming hope. Images captured through my camera lens are hurled into cyberspace broadcasting moments once held sacred, to the world.

I channel my emotions onto the electronic page. I click. I share. I upload the secrets from my soul in bits and bytes. I sit braless, in striped pajamas, safely hidden behind the firewall that makes me brave in this new world. I let the words tumble from my beating heart through the rhapsody of wi-fi. Gone is the diary with the rainbow cover; it’s tiny lock protecting surreptitious thoughts. Gone are the letters creased and wrinkled from memorization, hidden underneath my mattress. My habitual secrecy ensnared, by the lure of an age of information.