Why another blog?

It all seemed so clear last night when I decided to start a blog. Not anymore, but here I am writing.
For a long time, I had no interest in writing a blog. I've been obsessed with the fragility of human memories for years and years, so I tried to conserve as much living as possible in middle school and high school by keeping a diary. What a life, growing up without daily internet connection! Later, my email correspondence with my friends became my most precious way of conserving living. It was personal, intimate and it allowed depths of emotional expression that I didn't feel comfortable to post online. My argument: I won't be selling myself for as long as I have great people in my life to give myself to (This sounds so much better in Romanian: Nu ma vand cat timp cat am cui sa ma daruiesc). And still, here I am, writing this blog.
Yesterday, Liana, Moni and I realized how little we remember from Pe strada Mantuleasa and Life is Elsewhere. We, people without a sparkling memory, are condamned to live in the present. Or rather, in a narrow interval centered around the present moment. What happened this month, what we felt this month, what we read this month. Of course, we have general ideas of everything, but they are just skeletons without precious, subtle, beautiful details. I feel that my arguments are less powerful because I always work with a finite amount of data, limited by my deficitary long term memory and my noncooperative hippocampus. This thought always annoys me, but of course, I have my own protective ideas: since we integrate less data in our analyses, we go deeper into it :P.
I've been very emotional lately, as I always am while in Romania and my state peaks right before I leave for US, which will happen in 3 days. I still have to write a 5 page account of my summer research experience, together with telling my friends how much they mean to me. It's interesting how much people can mean for us and how we never manage to say it right. I've known some of my best friends for 7 years now, and I seem to take it too much for granted. How it all began, how we grew up together, how we discovered movies, music, books that shaped us, how we had so many meaningful conversations and, recently, how we sent each other emails. These little bricks all added up to form solid, lovely friendships. The feeling and the love survive and follow us wherever we go, but some of the bricks are forgotten. Emotions attached to experiences are known to increase the probability of long-term storage of that experience. And still, I'm forgetting! This is what scares me and why I want to write, so that we can save the little bricks.
My obsession with writing to save the 'little bricks' is strongly connected to my desire to tell people how much they mean to me, without seeming false. If I'd remember specific shared moments, my feelings and compliments would be backed up by concrete 'evidence' and would have a lower chance of being perceived as just vain words. In a way, it's easier to tell your recent friends how much you care about them and how special they are because the 'evidence' is still fresh in your memory. On the other hand, it's harder, since we become vulnerable once we present our emotions openly. The easy way out would be to present people with our love and appreciation, without letting the feelings take over us. Saying the sentiment, without genuinly feeling it. But aren't we missing so much out of life, with its dramatic, burning emotional peaks, with this approach? Of course we are, but what other options are left? Take the risk. Consider the possibility that you might not mean as much for someone as that person means for you. Love. You'll grow out of your own ashes anyway.