February 19, 2014 § 2 Comments
Facebook is false. And yet I, too, am guilty of stuffing myself daily with the usual unimportant stodge and mindless self-indulgence that consumes the minds of our generation.
Facebook is forged. And I’m a hypocrite, of course. Its fiction gives birth to jealously and breeds unnecessary yet undisguisable loathing, though we know what we observe is not the truth. Worse, however, is the manner in which it makes us question the very nature of our own existence. It lines us up, side by side, cowering with despair before a firing squad, and unashamedly forces us to self-analyse and self-edit.
Facebook is fake. It’s a world where unplanned pregnancy trumps graduation glee, and reckless engagement beats remarkable achievement every. single. time. An over-populated planet on which ultrasound images and Argos diamond rings receive congratulations en masse, from an audience which screams for the banishment of your mortarboard; progress and prosperity are not welcome here.
Facebook is feigned. I would appear you have taken a wrong turn somewhere, a couple of years back, did you not notice before? You’re in the wrong job, you’re in the wrong relationship and you’re obviously living in the wrong country. You could have my job! You could have my boyfriend! You should be in Thailand like me!! Look at all 3,457 of my profile pictures and I’ll prove it to you.
Facebook is fabricated. It convinces you that what you are doing right now is exactly what you should definitely not be doing. Oh, you chose a Master’s in Journalism? You poor, misguided child! I’m a lifeguard at a nudist beach on the Galapagos Islands! I’ve lost nearly a stone on this fabulous new diet of cubed cactus and drinking my own urine. And check out my sunburnt ass! Have you ever seen such magnificent sunburn? You could have a sunburnt ass just like me…if only you’d chosen the correct career path and not £4.50 White Zinfandel and a 10 pack of biros. Ballpoint pens and cheap rosé won’t save drowning travelers now, will they?
Facebook is fictitious. And don’t you believe one single word of it, my dear. In the mainstream of the technological age, we are all creative writers, shamefully expanding our fabricated realities. Could it be that we are simply hyperbolising our lives to disguise the fact that we are all secretly just as hopelessly and desperately lost as each other?
I hope so.
Perhaps then, we should reverse this self-indulging trend one humorous, self-questioning status at a time. Maybe then we can restore a sense of legitimate self-confidence in ourselves and our peers. We’re in our mid-20s, for god’s sake! You might as well face it. You were lonely in Thailand, your current relationship is based on mutual alcoholism and you definitely have no idea how to write 5000 words about Jean-Paul Sartre’s theory of existentialism by Monday. But then neither do I, so don’t worry about it too much.
We are the lost generation. But we will work it out eventually, we always do. This is not a competition so, maybe, let’s help each other out a little. Honesty and a sense of realistic perspective could go a long way.
Choose your future. Choose Facebook.