Za Twita

I tried, God knows, I tried. I made a pact to come back and blog. Because for me, blogging is not really about the ‘now.’ In fact, it has never really been about the ‘now’ since there’s been a niggling feeling in the background telling me, beyond the deals when the blog goes bigger than Ariana Huffington’s or when the talking heads on Ugandan TV start quoting it, it will always be about something else.

Along the way, it became clear this was really about the future. I have been running around with the happy thought in my head that when my progeny is old enough, along with the coming-of-age cash, I shall also turn the password over and let them decide what to make of me and what I really thought of my world in these years.

So I never fretted when I realised I had gone a week … okay, a month without posting. Because this was for the long haul. I can go days or months without saying what is on my mind because later, when the little nuggets are put together, the real picture will come together. Like how Mel Gibson does it when he’s making those crazy movies of his.

But now, I am up against this new monster. Totally unexpected, I tell you. It is not Facebook, because Facebook never really threatened blogging. Or maybe I never really took Facebooking seriously because of all those inane comments all those unrealistic ‘friends’ will keep on posting. Surely, this medium had nothing on blogging.

A year ago, i joined Twitter. I joined briefly, that is, then threw it out. Because I did not understand it. That whole ‘only 140 characters’ was a big turn-off. I couldn’t understand how something that was meant to give me a platform to wax lyrical in all colours could be useful if it limited my waxing.

Until I came back just last month. And now I cannot pull myself away.

Now, blogging seems so yesterday. It is a quaint little pastime to be used as a footnote. Because I am always checking new Tweets coming in and they are so to the point. News pegs and Gaetano asking what he should do today.

Call Felix

Twitter and Facebook, they say, are the fuel of the Arab Spring. I say it is Twitter. This is where you can strike up the fervour of revolution with just 100 characters. More and the moment is gone; the trance is broken.


About Steven

It wasn't me; arrest the voices. It was the voices in my head. Sike! I am Ugandan first. I care for development in my country. I am a curious observer second and I care to know what you think.
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