“I blog…therefore… I exist,” says an Iranian blogger.
And I, here in America where no thought police exist and I’m bound by nothing, where I can say and do as I please, feel the same. I am addicted to my blog, the diary that I candidly share with the world. Without my words I don’t exist. In Iran, people are punished and harassed because of their smiles, their thoughts, their words, their appearances; everything they do is censored. So they blog. That’s how they think, that’s how they become alive. In the blogosphere they learn to unveil, reveal, expose their deepest desires, thoughts, feelings. Why shouldn’t they? Why shouldn’t they be free to bare it all, like we do here in this world? For so long they have dealt with bars, walls and chains, and now in this beautiful world of blogs, they can speak from the heart, from the soul, about anything, about anyone. They… exist.
When we are forced to obey our enforcers and live in humility, when everything becomes politics, we sometimes abandon our personal, private lives. In writing we find that sense of existence, that sense of being, that sense of living for who we really are. Therefore we exist and become dreamers in a world where dreams are illegal.