It’s been over a month since I quit Facebook, and I’ve shown no danger of getting back on. In the beginning, whenever my wife’s newsfeed was open, I’d be tempted to steal a scroll or two, seeing what everyone was up to. But about a week ago, she called me to her computer to look at a photo on Facebook, and when I saw the newsfeed, I actually felt physical repulsion. I peeped at the photo and left her computer immediately, surprised at my own reaction.
Recently, I made the mistake of looking closely at the feed and was immediately reminded of why I no longer want to be on the networking site. A close friend had shared a rather nice status update (I miss reading those) and in the comments it was revealed that I had left Facebook. One reaction was exactly the sort of comment I miss — a friendly, joshing one about how I’d probably quit because my cycling friends were constantly posting pictures of me in “skin-tight chaddis [short pants]”. That made me grin.
Another comment was a self-declared sarcastic one, asking if I now went around saying I had “real relationships” and “now had time to read”. It was a comment born of insecurity, aimed at insecurity, and any reply I made would have also been forged in insecurity. It was a comment firmly founded in Facebook’s greatest temptation — to make you and your life more interesting and relevant than everybody else’s. The burst of negative emotions cemented it for me. I’m not going back.
In fact, it’s because of these reactions that I reveal I’m off Facebook only if I absolutely have to. It’s the same reason my wife and I are so reluctant to tell people that we don’t have tele-vision — the all-too-common reaction is one of sarcastic insecurity and the assumption that we’re all smug and pointed about it. But sometimes, conversations force us to reveal that we have no cable, and though we say so almost shamefacedly, we’re almost always met with a defensive explanation of a person’s TV-watching desires. Look, either you want to watch TV or you don’t — it’s not my business, and nor is my not watching TV a criticism of your choices. It’s just what I do, and it’s the same with Facebook.
Enjoyable trip
Not long after “committing Facebook suicide” as one friend puts it, I’d gone on an eating trip to Calicut. Ordinarily, this would be Facebook gold — driving there with three friends, going from meal to meal, restaurant to restaurant, food to dissect, dishes to compare.
But without the big flashing ‘Post on Facebook’ sign in my head, I was able to enjoy everything around me so much more. Each event was no longer being watched from a distance; I was no longer composing status updates in my head. Nor did I spend time wondering about how many people had seen and responded to my earlier posts. In fact, I realised that Facebook is like a chronic, low-grade fever, manifesting in a near-constant desire to log on and share, or see what is happening online without me (well-documented now as FOMO — fear of missing out).
So as much as the sarcastic commenter rolled her virtual eyes at my supposed (and instantly assumed) one-ness with the world, it was true. What I found irritating was the assumption that I went around talking about it, telling everyone how much better my life was without Facebook. Hey, that’s like carrying the ghost of the status update box around with you, right? I’m not going to do that. I’ll just write an article about it instead.
Gautam Raja is a journalist based in Bangalore, India.