Flight from Facebook

At the moment, pretty much anyone knows what the word “Facebook” means. One of the first majorly popular social networking sites, what used to be only a college networking place has turned to a free-for-all, hullabaloo.

It’s what the young, cool (and uncool) people talk about these days. Band kids on the MUNI bus yesterday–

“I’m going to post this on Facebook and you’ll be so embarrassed! You watch!”

“Nuh uh!”

“Yeah!”

What’s the point in having Facebook, one may ask.

For me, when I did have it, I felt it was a good tool for keeping in touch with people that I had met during school and such. My university was one of the first to be “invited” into the Facebook network when it started in 2004, so I signed up for it since it was something new and intriguing. Immediately, I found myself amused at how I could find former high school classmates, and add them to my list to keep in touch somehow. The novelty of how easily we could now keep track of each other (for free, unlike using websites like classmates.com at the time) was simply, yes, a novelty.

I found myself drudging up memories of people from my past, good and bad. Over the years, my list accumulated and I found more and more people from my high school, and also proceeded to add people I had briefly been acquainted with in college. It felt nice to have “so many friends” and be able to keep in touch with them all through Facebook.

Well, then, after awhile, after graduating from college, Facebook began to be something of a nuisance/painful point for me. Keeping tabs on people from my past (and vice versa), I felt like I was constantly being judged for what I was (and was not) doing with my life. Sure, I had only just graduated college, but I found myself feeling envious and upset when I would peruse through others’ pages and see what they were up to in life. I found myself judging them, which made me also feel like, “If I am judging them, who knows how much they’re judging me?”

It’s only the Internet, after all, but I found myself getting too hung over such a thing. I would sit by my computer and sometimes waste several hours clicking around my Facebook list, checking up on people and just becoming too engrossed into people’s lives who I didn’t care about anymore (or so I thought).

It was only in due time that I finally decided I needed to disconnect from the website. It was no longer useful to me in the sense that it was holding me behind in my past and trapping me in fear of being judged for not being “successful enough”. The mini-feed caused for me to feel like my own privacy on the site was no longer something I could enjoy. With every little update, of who’s going out with who or who did this and that–it became too much for me.

So, I left Facebook quietly this past June.

The few friends I did want to keep in touch with understood my reasoning; after all, if they were true friends/people I wanted to keep in touch with, they had other methods of keeping in contact with me, like via email or a phone call. It was unnecessary to have Facebook as another outlet for us to keep in contact anymore anyway.

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In the end, do people dote on Facebook a little too seriously? I was discussing this with one of my co-workers yesterday after he mentioned how he was going back to his hometown soon for his 10-year high school reunion. He said he never had much interest in Facebook in the first place, but one of his roommates wanted him to sign up so they could keep in touch somehow. He, however, has been clever in manipulating his information on there and showing how gullible people have become in terms of information on Facebook:

“I change around little things on my profile every day just to mess with people’s minds. One moment, I’ll say I’m ‘engaged’, then I’ll change it really quickly to ‘married’, then the next day change it immediately to ‘single’ again. It’s amazing how many people pay attention to that stuff and keep dropping me ‘Congratulations!’ messages.”

I’ll just leave it at that, since it speaks for itself.

When one takes another for granted;

Disclaimer: Today’s entry touches upon a more personal issue than usual entries. Please read with an open mind.

Too often, I read stories (real life, no doubt) about how people had neglected their relationships with loved ones, only to have their loved ones pass away/die suddenly in the end. The people who neglected the relationships, they were taking the relationships for granted, thinking “I’m too busy, but they’ll always be there when I’m not busy.”

It’s sad to say, it happens a lot, since I continue to find stories like this strewn across the magazines I read and on the Internet.

We, as humans, are all guilty of this feeling. Even I am, with the death of my paternal grandmother almost ten years ago. Even though so much time has passed, I still feel guilt over how I was acting on the very last day she was alive. I was just a young teenager, sure; just wanted to spend more time with my friends, all of whom I don’t even talk to in the present time. My mother had to practically drag me to my grandparents’ house that day so I could pay a visit to my ailing grandmother. It wasn’t that I disliked my grandmother; I loved her very dearly. Yet, seeing her sick, bed-ridden–it was a pain that I wanted to try to avoid, to try to mask myself from.

So, on that day, even though I was there to visit her, I was in denial of her health, the preciousness of her life. I wanted to avoid the thought. I thought to myself, “She’ll be better soon.” And I took for granted the time that I had left with her.

The next morning, my father told me how my grandmother had passed away the previous night, after having another stroke.

At that point, I tried so hard in vain to make up for the time that was lost between my grandmother and I. In the final months of her life, I spent little time with her due to my denial, but also due to my being “too busy” with marching band, school, etc. Even though I was only a young teenager at that point, I was still thinking then–“I’m too busy.”

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What goes around, comes around.

I find myself these days, feeling worse and worse about a lot of things in my life. I fear my health is failing in many ways, and I try to reach out for help. However, over the years, I have pushed away many friendships, many people who wanted to help me. But I kept saying, “I’m okay” and let the people go their way.

The few friends I have kept around, we, in turn, have taken each other for granted. Right now, I feel thoroughly neglected by the few I had thought were my closest friends. The other day, after feeling a horribly emotional low, I tried contacting those friends to seek comfort, solace.

Nobody answered, and even though one did, they said they could not talk, because they were “too busy”.

It was like a knife through my already bleeding heart. Here, I find myself left alone, with nobody to lean upon. And the thought continues to eat away at me–what if, suddenly, something happened to me? Would anyone care? Would anyone regret?

“I’m too busy.”

Saying this to someone in need is essentially an emotional murder. How come we, as humans, continue to do such a thing to one another? We say we love, we say we care, yet when the ones we love need us the most, we say “No” and go on with our own lives. Why?

Freaky Incidents in the Night…

There were a couple of freaky, strange incidents last night around bedtime/during my sleep. My Monday was a pretty bad one, so I decided I would “fix” things by just going to bed early. I was lying in bed, about to drift off to sleep; heard my neighbors upstairs walking around, and just thought to myself, “Hm, they must be home.”

Suddenly, I heard a noise within my apartment; I became scared, thinking that someone or something had broken into my apartment. I quickly thought–did I lock my doors? How could someone/something get in without me knowing?

The noise occurred a few more times, until I finally decided I had to get up and turn on the lights to see who or what was there. I looked around my room, and I saw along the wall closest to the back door–a huge bug (some say it was probably a cockroach, yikes!). It was crawling on the wall a little, then it flew/jumped to the floor! I screamed to myself, and then, took one of my shoes and proceeded to stomp it to death. I promptly flushed the dead body down the toilet.

Then, I went to sleep.

A few hours later, I awoke, feeling nauseous and dehydrated. I had cried a lot before bed (over some issues from work), so all that crying must have depleted my body of water. I first went to the kitchen to pour myself some water. Then, feeling like I was about to vomit, I ran to the bathroom to make sure I didn’t vomit in the middle of the floor.

However, nothing came out, and nothing ever did come out during that one hour I stayed awake (it was the middle of the night, too). I kept going back and forth between my bed and my bathroom, not sure of which place was best. I felt a fever rise within me, and felt chills as well. I panicked, thinking that I would have to call 911 or something.

After awhile though, I fell back asleep.

The next morning, I woke up and felt fine. It was as if it were all a nightmare I had dreamed up. Yet, it was all indeed real.

Reawakening.

Since the beginning of this month, I feel like my love for reading and writing has been reawakened from within me. I used to do a lot of this when I was younger, but somehow these talents were put on the back-burner throughout high school and college. Probably because throughout high school and college, I was writing papers for classes and reading textbooks; I probably felt like I had “no time” to do any leisure reading or writing.

It feels nice to be back in the game though–I feel like both activities have helped me feel more inspired these days.