Rasma Says

Musings, deliberations, flashes of unaccounted for brilliance…

The Obliteration of Something That Never Was?

Maybe I’ll start over. Maybe I’ll resurrect myself in a new form. But for now I’m signing off, drawing the knife, knotting the noose, taking the plunge: committing ritual facebook suicide. I have already done the necessary backup of my affairs. Maybe I’ll go in and knock off each of my friends first, or maybe I’ll just kick the chair and let them wonder where I am. 

Not that they will necessarily notice. That’s part of my dilemma with facebook. The scrambling to be friends, the collecting of friend portraits, the tagging of friends in pictures… a frantic hamster activity seen from the point of view of someone who would rather drink their orange juice in their hotel room as I am doing now than down in the breakfast room with a few hundred colleagues, some of whom I actually know. On facebook it seems to me everyone is waving and no one is really waving back, just waving with their own stuff in their hand. Like show-and-tell amongst a very competitive group of 8 year olds. 

The last straw was finding pictures of myself in a state of mourning after my mother’s sudden death put up on my niece’s facebook page with tags to my profile. No, I didn’t tell her I didn’t want the pictures there. She owns them. Her father took them. They have nothing to do with me except that they are of me. And I have no control over that. All her friends and relatives get to see what I felt like in the hellish winter of time between finding my mother dead on the Saturday before Thanksgiving and burying her before the turkey leftovers were served. 

I don’t want anything to do with it anymore. I go onto facebook and find I don’t know what to say about my status, primarily because I don’t know who I am saying it to. And once I have deliberated that, gotten a grip on the situation and posted my status, made a few comments on someone else’s or my own wall, then the long anxious waiting sets in, waiting for comments in return. Æsj, it just evokes all the anxiety of a 7th grade school dance. 

I know. It’s just me. Don’t bother telling me how I just don’t understand or appreciate the value of facebook and social communities at large, how I need to lighten up and not be so analytical… I know. And this is why I am saying goodbye cruel world to a place I cannot get a grip on. The final blow was the “social community” of writers I met last summer at Vermont Studio Center who all cross-facebooked-each other, including me. And then silence. Turned cheek. Ignored messages and postings. Shunned, and that for reasons I do not understand, but it has something perhaps to do with cultural adaptation. I think I am speaking the same language as them, but my words may as well be written in invisible ink. And it is my fault, not theirs. They are happily carrying on in the virtual world that connects them. I wish them well. And adieu.


This entry was posted on 21/06/2011 by in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , , , .


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