The problem is you, it’s always been you. Social media just exploits that, your inability to love the Other. The avatars are not real, only a mere representation of what’s real, and it’s easy to tolerate their presence, their absence. Easy to love, easy to hate; with a tap, a click, a comment. Reality requires so much more of you, and I know it hurts. It hurt me too, until I learned— falling, failing, flailing— how to tolerate. Exposure therapy is the term the professionals use and I’m still in recovery. Third spaces If you go to the gym, workout and leave without saying a word to a soul, for ..read more

Some evenings, filled with terror from witnessing another day— time— passing me by nonchalantly, and unwilling to escape my emotional discomfort with Netfixes and digital pacifiers, I turn to my morning journals. Each page is carefully handwritten and stamped, and I begrudgingly flip through the pages until I stumble upon a date, a word, a sentence that catches my attention. I read. I don’t recognize the woman from these morning pages: Curious, open, understanding, accepting—Excited for the living to come, to unfold, with her childlike glee. What does she know, I wonder, what does she know in ..read more

“Wherever you go, there you are,” he used to warn me. This was after he gave up the pleading and we both settled for defiance; somewhere between disdain and indifference. I was inconsolable. These walls, I would scream, come alive each morning and raise their voices at me to mock me, to ask how come I’m still here, and he would keep on talking as if I were muted: “You’re not listening to me, wherever you go…” After the fact, after defiance turned into indifference and there are things you simply cannot sustain on non-feeling, I would look back and realize I never so much as whispered— The scre ..read more

“So, no Instagram, no Facebook, no Twitter, no Snapchat, no Tik Tok…” I know he believes me when I say I’m not on social media, it’s just that he wants to make sure I didn’t forget to mention the Instagram account I kept for art inspo or the Facebook one I kept to stay in touch with family back home. “Nope, nothing” I say, “I have email?” I offer. We move on to more interesting topics. By now, my default has become no Instagram, no Facebook, no Twitter, no Snapchat, no Tik Tok… Not even WhatsApp: This one makes life the more inconvenient but as a woman of principles, I had to leave when Facebo ..read more

“Whagwan, sweetie!” It’s a Friday night, I’m downtown walking to catch the streetcar while fumbling with the Hoopla app on my phone to find a song that has randomly started playing in my head: Welcome to Heartbreak. Hoopla is of no use; I can’t find the dirty version and the clean version usually makes me unreasonably angry. If I were on Spotify, I could have what I want when I want it but I have made my peace with my choices a long time ago and I settle for the next best thing I can find: Ready to Die. [Parental Advisory Explicit Content] I look up following the sound— Wha ..read more

I once knew of grown men that had no say over their lives, complacent and trapped in the misery of their own making. It horrified me endlessly but I would listen carefully as they tried to justify their predicament: “You must understand,” they would plead with themselves, “she’s the boss!” and we would all laugh raucously. Nothing is funny, of course, but such predicaments require humour to placate the rage. “Want another beer?” he asks right on time and I just smile and nod. I have learned a long, long time ago to leave the grown-ups alone: When you have spent a lifetime weaving the traps of ..read more

When we both said I’m done and the judge signed off on the papers, they said I should anticipate seven stages of grief: Shock, denial, anger, bargaining, depression, testing, and acceptance. “In no particular order,” they emphasized. It was supposed to make one feel better: You will feel like shit, no doubt, but don’t worry if it’s in no particular order. But I knew there would only be six stages for me regardless of the order. “I think I’m depressed,” I say to her— This is years before; there are no judges, just a woman with a yellow notepad I’m hoping will see my tears and prescribe me the ..read more

Evening starts when you’re done all your tasks for the day. It’s that lull in-between dinner and sleep; too tired for anything productive, too wired for sleep so you fill it with the internet. Scroll, scroll, scroll. Because you’re scrolling, because of the blue light, rage, and information overload, you are even more wired. Sleep alludes you. You scroll more. It’s a never-ending cycle. Night after night, day after day. You know what to do, why don’t you do it? There is no good reason to be on the internet in the evenings anyway. The emails, texts, tweets, reposts, notifications all can wait ..read more

Attention is a hot commodity in the new economy: The new economy doesn’t want your money— Just your attention. Mark Zuckerberg wants your attention. Elon Musk wants your attention. And even that person you went to high school with 13 years ago but rarely spoke with wants your attention. Everyone is dying to get your attention including me except you. You don’t seem to care much about your attention, to value it as much as Silicon Valley does. Or that person you went to high school with 13 years ago. You give it away freely, waste it on the most banal and useless things all day long day after d ..read more

All my dreams came true this year. I even met someone offline. I loved hearing him tell the story: “We were at a comedy show and there is this woman heckling from the sides.” I smile coyly. I am that person. They say it’s impossible now to meet someone IRL, that I need the apps. We all do, they say. I try the apps and I’m exhausted by day two. The avatars wear me out; I delete them. I will not go back. I cannot go back. It has taken me between 3 to 12 years to get here— depending on how you look at it. To get to where they said was impossible. Things are just different now, you know, they look ..read more