Kiss My Culture

I Killed My Online-Self and Have Been Living in Complete Bliss (For 2 Days…But Still)

“Where are you?” a friend asked rather worryingly over the phone. “I am home, why?” I replied and promised myself to answer with another question if he was going to ask me another question. “Are you alright?” He was anticipating a sort of a doomsday answer, so I gave him a, “Maybe?”

This is my intentionally annoying way of answering ambiguously; something I pull once in a while for fun. But he meant well. And he was seriously concerned; all because I killed my online-self.

No more Facebook -sorry, I know you guys worked hard building that new Timeline thingy… *wiggle pointing finger*

And no more Twitter -I haven’t seen the kick-ass layout, but I bet it’s great.

No more having the two social networks stapled permanently on my internet tab. No more clicking the Facebook logo for virtual self-validation through notifications and looking for my Twitter handle at @mention to feel a faux sense of self-worth.

I can’t deny the technological advantages and amazing usability the two mediums offered. I write stuff, so it is (or was) a great way to pimp my worded craftsmanship. I also can’t deny the many friends I’ve made virtually, of which 90% I have never met before.

Further into things that I can’t deny, I can’t even start to describe how much Facebook and Twitter have perpetually sucked me into a black hole of counter-productiveness filled with cat videos, cringe-a-post, shallow conversations, blurting WTFs to pictures of people with things, pictures of people at places, pictures of people with things at places, et cetera.

Almost everyday for the past 3 years -since I created my first account on Facebook with an embarrassing email address that I will never divulge- my news feed was the first thing I saw when I woke up and the last before I slept.

Facebook amplified two rather turbulent relationships. It got me on a ranting spree free of charge. It got me waking up wondering if anyone commented on a very intelligent comment I made about cockroaches the day before. It got me contemplating my likeability from the number of “likes” on my post. It got me questioning why this post received more “likes” than the other post which I thought was a better post. It got ‘em caterpillars in my stomach sprouting into a million butterflies when a girl I liked “liked” my post (does she like me, or my post or what? Meh.)

Two days ago, I was thinking of something witty to write on Facebook and Twitter. A few seconds later, I deactivated my account.

After I did it, I was waiting for something to happen exempli gratia a comet shooting through the roof of the building and blast me to smithereens. That didn’t happen. As a matter of fact, I was savouring my last meal, anticipating things (not limited to a comet) to come and destroy me.

Those were the reasons why I haven’t killed my online-self -for fear of being murdered in reality.

Kidding.

Seriously now, I’ve been thinking about doing this for a long-time; even before I got my Facebook account. From Friendster to MySpace, I’ve always ended up self-destructing my online-self. And every time I did, it was nothing short of rewarding.

It has been two days now. However, it has been reported that Facebook and Twitter addicts will face a harsh cold-turkey for a few weeks.

Bullshit.

The only cold turkey I had was an actual one, in a salad, and that was yesterday.

In the span of two days, I’ve written three articles (averaging 2,000 words each), a short story, a blog post, copies for a brochure, and even had time to do a mixtape.

Yay me.

I even took a short break this afternoon to meet my brother who I haven’t seen in months. He told me about how funny his almost 3-year-old daughter was, what he and his family will be planning to do this year, and made jokes about himself.

He explained the psychological findings of a pseudoscientific study on Indigo children, and somewhat made it sound that I had some relation to it.

My initial thought about Indigo children was that it was a finding of children in denim jeans. That would have been weird. But you know what will be weirder? If he told me all this on Facebook instead. But he couldn’t. So we met.

Instead, I saw him laugh and eyes glitter under his shades. He made hand gestures and movements when he spoke. He imitated his daughter’s voice and likeness. We sat under the blaring sun, and we spoke about things that mattered. He bought coffee for me because I am kinda broke. Then I saw him left. And as he waved “goodbyes” and offered “take care of yourself, man”, we went our separate ways.

I will ask him out again, and I will call him on my phone.

These are the things social network didn’t give me, but actually took away. I can’t blame it, I have the power to choose. But now, since I have no alternative than to literally network socially, I say, that this is the best choice for me.