why no bookface?

When I tell people I don’t have a Facebook account, I often receive one of the two following responses. The first is met with an instant “Oh, that’s so damn good of you!” coupled with a body that indicates a mixture of envy, self-doubt, surprise, and interest. It’s usually followed by a “I wish I could do that”, to which I usually end the conversation. The other response is a very inquisitive one, in which the dialogue consists of a simple “why is that?”. For the majority of the time, this response is almost subtly imposing some sort of challenge, in which the oppositions body language usually says something like: “who the fuck does he think he is?” Please note that this gesture isn’t implied in any sort of aggression. Its primary motivator is usually a whimsical and playfully arrogant. Never the less, I prefer the former of the two, unless I’m feeling up for a bit of chat.

For the purpose of this story, lets go back two years ago. I was 20. I had a Facebook account. I also had friends that I liked to talk to on that account. But as things got busy for me in ‘real life’, I found myself being very inactive on my Facebook. My friends whom I used Facebook to talk to would sometimes get offended, if they sent me a message via Facebook and received no reply. It replaced the phone call for many, and to a large degree, still has. They were upset they couldn’t see me and confused that they didn’t know what I was doing.
I figured that I hardly use the thing, and I was becoming increasingly more selective with my friends and who knew what about me.

This brings me to my first reason as to why I’m no longer part of this social network — I’m selective. Being friends with lots of people doesn’t do it for me. I need few friends. These few friends I genuinely care for. Therefore a conversation online next to a few of their latest pictures really really doesn’t do it for me. I need the real thing. And there’s more: I damn well need that in return. For me, that instantly separates who actually gives a fuck about my existence and who doesn’t. It may sound melodramatic, but at its very core, it rings true. Why doesn’t Sally go out on Saturday night? Because she has 42 people online and a new couch she bought from Ikea.

Why would I engage in an addiction that bores me? I’m addicted to being better, food, climbing, singing and sleeping. I do all those things because I enjoy them. Why would I do something everyday of the week, that I didn’t enjoy? I’ll tell you: without sounding like a shuck, I’ve just simply got better things to do. I would rather read a book on the train, or listen to music and look out the window, or examine the faces I’ve never seen before. I’m interested in the life before my eyes, not in the screen before my eyes.

The third reason is very picky. I don’t usually share this one. I just think having a phone constantly attached to your hand is a really yuck look. There’s something about it. It’s almost as if its become an extension of our bodies. We need it. Even at the dinner table. Were conscious of it and how long its been since we last checked the screen for the latest status updates.

I want to write more, and I will. It’s late now. To be continued…