First up: I don’t give a shit if Mark Zuckerberg is a freaking gazillionaire by now, but I think the world’s probably a helluva lot of a better place before Facebook arrived.
I mean, come on, admit it already - there was a time when you probably felt friendships and relationships were a lot more meaningful and sincere when you actually went out and met people instead of just adding and/or accepting invites from random faces that left you wondering if you did indeed know Maggie Q or Madonna well enough to actually have them as “friends” in your Facebook network.
Actually, come to think of it, I’m not even sure if Madonna’s FB account is indeed maintained by the prima donna herself, but it’s not like I really care.
In fact, to be even more honest, I’ve long given up keeping track of who’s added me or who’s just sent a friend request and so on and so forth; it’s not like I need 5,000 friends to feel loved anyway. And certainly I’m not some pimply self-deluded and clearly misinformed 14-year-old eager to let the world know just how cool I am by writing sensational remarks on my Wall so much so I cause yet another Member of Parliament to lose votes in a General Election.
Or try to start a revolution in my own country for that matter. Like, what’s there to revolt about right where I come from?
Of course, no one can blame Zuckerberg, really. Call him an arrogant schmuck, call him the icon of the century and an inspiration to Generation Y/Z, I don’t care; the only credit I’d give him is the ingenuity of the stunt he pulled off by creating Facebook and making lots of money by helping everyone else attain that sense of self-importance that so many say he’s full of.
Else, when all’s said, I’m actually missing the processes of calling up an old friend and meeting up for a real chat instead of all that silly “poking” that gets nowhere, really. Poke simi poke, go meet your friend and lim kopi for real already.
Who ever desired each other as we do? Let us look
for the ancient ashes of hearts that burned,
and let our kisses touch there, one by one,
till the flower, disembodied, rises again.
Let us love that Desire that consumed its own fruit
and went down, aspect and power, into the earth:
We are its continuing light,
its indestructible, fragile seed
~ Pablo Neruda