I think it’s a win, but it left me with a lot to think about.
He just told me nonchalantly, after dinner. ‘By the way, I deactivated Facebook,’ with a tone that suggested he just took out the trash. He explained that he wasn’t getting value out of it anymore, and deactivating Facebook meant he spent less time scrolling on his phone.
I opened my photos. A chunk of my ‘Photos of you’ tab disappeared, as though many moments with Ben in the last couple years didn’t happen. I get filled with some sort of existential dread.
‘But, but… how will I feel you’re there?’ I ask, when I’m sat two metres from him.
I look at my photos again. You can see a clear divide between the time I met Ben and the time after. He took all the photos. He posted them. He tagged me. I felt loved and wanted and not in want of attention. Then I remember a time well before, in my twenties, when I felt a despondency staring at my feed, and when I tied my self-esteem and self-worth to how many times I appeared in other people’s posts and photos.
Anyone who’s dabbled in ‘minimalism’ or ‘mindfulness’ or have followed Cal Newport’s work, or even had a good look at their mental health, would have thought of the same thing—deleting Facebook or quitting social media can be a positive thing (I suppose for many it’s not a matter of if, but when). I’m not going to bother citing sources as a cursory google would throw up dozens. (There are nuances to some studies, wherein social media affected people’s mental health depending on how they used it.)
I’ve also seen a handful of friends and family deactivate from time to time. Honestly, I have considered it so many times in the past, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it, for the simple reason that it still serves as that platform that connects me to my family despite the distance.
Sometimes I phone my grandfather in Palawan and he tells me he’s seen my recent photos and such, or Ben’s grandma occasionally comments on our posts, photos, and other mundane things. It gives you a glimpse of someone’s mundane life, as though you were there with them. My father could see that I have gained weight since the last time we saw each other (which was, to be honest, pre-pandemic).
I also enjoy seeing glimpses of people who used to be in my life—even if we’re no longer as close or no longer talk. A former coworker’s yard and cats and vinyl collection. An online friend of ten years’ thoughtful text posts. A former roommate’s life, now as a doctor, when I met her for the first time when she was only a freshmen pre-med.
But then it makes you wonder, are little, impersonal glimpses enough to justify keeping Facebook? The people closest to me, whom I hold dear, with whom I make a point to talk to and keep in touch, are the same people who barely use Facebook, if at all. Cal Newport brutally suggested in Digital Minimalism that online friends aren’t worth keeping, only near ones, because there’s no real substitute to physical presence.
How did people keep in touch before social media? If you were overseas for a very long time, did hearing someone’s voice on the phone make up for all the months not seeing them? Did people reopen photo albums on film fondly and more frequently? Did they talk much more often and make it a point to visit more, because social media didn’t condition them to be passive and lazy?
As I lamented the loss of photos on my profile, Ben reminded me, with a mild twinge of annoyance, that all the same photos are on his Instagram if I really wanted to see them. ‘I can also log in, download all my data, and give that to you if you want to use them.’ And suddenly I’m caught in my own line of thinking, which is, did I value the photos because they were posted online for all our friends to see? And why is that important?
On the other hand, after so many years of fastidious and meticulous culling, my Facebook feed is actually filled with updates from the few friends I’ve chosen to keep, persons of note whose ideas I actually like (Ambeth Ocampo, for example), and organisations (nonprofit or otherwise) whose work inspire me. My feed becomes repetitive after only a few scrolls, and so I can disconnect easily. This is also true for my Instagram.
‘But how will people see my blog?’ I thought. Funny, because when I drafted my last post, I sat back, thought it was garbage, and told Ben I might quit blogging. He immediately looked concerned. ‘Why would you do that?’ he asked.
‘Because I think my posts are stupid, self-absorbed, and nobody really enjoys them.’
‘I enjoy reading your posts.’
And really, that alone made it worth it.
The rise of social media and microblogging meant traditional blogs went on the decline. So much so, that as I write this, the blogs with high-quality posts and photos, whose hundreds of posts I followed and loved, have all become defunct. The Country Vicar’s Wife (a mother of three in Wales), whose blog posts dated back to 2012, disappeared. Tricia Gosingtian pulled the plug on her blog, a year or so after writing about quitting blogging. The only one that remains out of that beloved lot is Tilly’s Nest, a chicken blog by a retired nurse in beautiful Cape Cod, although she slowed down considerably after her original flock died.
Well, there’s still some personal blogs I follow of the people I know in my life. I’ve also followed new bloggers, although they spend their time between their blogs, Instagram, Youtube, and the occasional podcast episode.
I digress…
After mulling things over in this post, I’m going to try a way forward—I’m going to spend less time posting on Facebook, and possibly Instagram. (I’ll keep them open, otherwise my family won’t find me or this blog! )
For years, and each new year, I would sit down and write the same two recurring goals (out of many):
- Learn photography
- Blog more frequently
Perhaps I could take my cue from Ben, and see this as a sign to actually action those items. I have always admired bloggers who spent time honing their photography. And I could put much more thought into what I share here.
With less time spent on social media, I could also start more conversations with the people in my life, call them more often. (Interestingly, just earlier this evening Ben’s grandma gave us a call. She mentioned she doesn’t often call from Messenger, but she gave it a shot, and it was lovely to hear from her.)
If you’re still here reading this, perhaps you’ll consider subscribing to my blog for email updates? Perhaps social media will decline and give way to personal blogs once more, bring back the feeling of anonymity to the world at large, but intimacy to the community you foster. As we say in Tagalog—bilog ang mundo. The world is round. That is to say, things come and go, history repeats itself, and social media, like fashion, will probably come and go.