I think I’ve finally figured out why I dislike Facebook.
Since the age of eleven, I’ve been on it and come off thrice, and every ‘on’ period has lasted three days.
The longest one was fifteen days, and gosh, I thought I’d finally gotten over my Facebook distaste then!
I’d always thought it had a little bit to do with the interface.
Horrible, I hated the blue.
While most apps have gone on to use deeper, more vibrant colours, there’s Facebook, with its dull, faded blue. Argh. (Actually, is it still that blue? I haven’t checked it in… three years.)
I also thought it definitely had something to do with laziness.
I can’t imagine the effort it takes to maintain a Facebook account. To just have an account where you’re scrolling through stuff you aren’t actually even looking at, and one where you just watch two-minute impressive life hacks that you know you will actually never try yourself just seems a bit redundant, doesn’t it? …I will justify my having a YouTube account by saying that it’s linked to Gmail, which I do use, and without which I may not have been here blogging about it!
And yes, call it ironic, here’s a blogger talking about being too lazy to maintain an account.
Heck, I’ll just butter y’all and say I’d prefer devoting my energies here than to Facebook!
Actually, I may not be screwing around about that. It’s true.
But I really do think I have immense respect for anyone who’s able to maintain an actual, live Facebook, at least one where the content doesn’t seem redundant, or is for a business. I’m talking about a personal account.
Today, I think I figured it out.
The internet has really made our lives so strongly webbed, hasn’t it?
I read the book Silas Marner, where after having his entire world come crashing down on him, Silas decides to move to a new town and start afresh, and eventually, does end up rebuilding his life to be a beautiful happening.
It’s not cowardice, I’d say.
It’s one thing to stand up and face any mess that’s thrown at you, but there is a line, and a time when you have to admit that there is nothing more that you can do. It’s another thing, then, to look under your feet and see that the line’s been crossed, and you’re too far away to be able to make it back.
And at that point, it’s alright to pack your bags and leave, try again.
It’s not cowardly, because it takes strength, I think, to be able to start all over again and rebuild yourself from scratch.
Not only are you leaving the messed up, the troubles behind, you’re also leaving behind everything you built for yourself all the while.
You’re pulling the foundation you painstakingly laid down right from under your feet.
That takes something.
And many of us do it.
So when my family moved cities, while for the first few months my energies were only focused on somehow going back, all by myself if I had to, and returning to my beloved city, I eventually came to see another angle: it was a blessing in disguise, a chance I’d got to finally begin all over again.
No longer would I have to hide from those who spent their childhood bullying me.
No longer would their faces bring back horrible memories.
No longer would I have to freak out if the backdoor was locked.
This was it, I was free. They were no longer a part of my life.
There was no one here who knew me, knew my past, no one could mock me for how easily I had let myself get pushed over, I couldn’t possibly be the focal point for everybody’s dark creativity to emerge and bloom, because no one knew anything about me!
I could be who I wanted to, I could show, this time around, that I was a lot stronger than they back home had thought me to be, no one could accuse me of crying.
(Okay, that was a huge tangent. I’m sorry.)
Point is, that is why I hated Facebook. I was happy knowing that these folks were out of my life for good. I was happy knowing that this was my new life, and it was a lot happier. I could forget the past, and just let my present be my reality, mixed with lessons I’d learnt, invaluable experience I’d gained from the trials from so long ago.
And then, there came Facebook.
I did not need these people’s faces popping up on my phone, I did not need to be reminded of them, their ways, and my old self- and I couldn’t allow myself to slip back into the past, whether in memory, or behaviour.
My mother often marvels at the power of Facebook. It has reconnected her with long-lost school and college friends from over twenty years ago, and she says there, your friends will always remain friends, because Facebook has lessened the distances between people so much. There are no more boundaries. You can cherish your friendships forever.
Maybe distance is not always such a bad thing.
Most of us must have had days when we’ve wanted a break, just a temporary distance from a friend, just to allow yourself to recuperate (and it may not even be your buddy’s fault), give yourself a little space.
That’s alright too.
So boundaries and distance may not always be bad. You don’t owe it to anyone.
We’re not into self-torture. And there’s nothing wrong in walking away.
So I come on, and drift off. And then, may want to connect with someone, come on for a day, for five minutes perhaps, then forget that account exists altogether.
It does bring me to crossroads, though, as I roll through my last year of school.
When it’s all done and dusted, there will be people I’d definitely want to keep up with. There are friendships I wouldn’t want to die.
There will be a decision I will have to make.
Will I let my past keep haunting me, and in the process miss out on something that may not be half as bad as I feel it may, or will I steel and face it? Will I find out, the line was crossed, and who, what really defines the lines?