I just got back from Portland this morning sans Cliff, and so far, slept five hours, ate four bowls of cereal, saw three patients, and spent 15 minutes on my reactivated Facebook.
To address the Facebook thing: it's supposedly only been 7 months, but it feels like ages since I was last on it. I plan not to deactivate anymore because I'm trying to take it easy on my passionate indifference towards social media. I'm annoying even myself by pretending like I don't care. In most ways, I didn't care, but then I cared that people couldn't contact me when I got an unexpected email from a former friend a few months ago, who said he couldn't find me and had to ask around for my handle. I was sad that someone from my past thought of me and I made it a pain in the ass for him to do a nice gesture and say hi. Facebook appears to be more of an accessible email-style form of contact for people who don't feel close enough to email me (email feels like a binary: an intimate or strictly professional medium). I want to say that I would never rejoin Instagram only because I hate watching people be consumed by it. One day, Henry and I were dining in a cute corner of Nom Wah when he demanded that I turn on my hotspot-- which I have never used before nor knew how to turn on-- just so he can post a photo from his data-defunct, wifi-hungry iPhone.
I was livid. Plus, I recently learned that quality time is my first Love Language, not acts of service (which is what I thought it was).
The Facebook thing really leads to a larger thing. Much larger than my alleged apathy towards it. In college, one of my friends said he valued me because I was always available. I stopped becoming available because 1) honestly, due to being in a relationship and 2) I eventually felt complete satisfaction with my social life. The people I wanted to talk with, I talked with. And everyone else was unimportant.
This sentiment grew stronger and more intense just in the last two to three years, until eight days ago.
Eight days ago, I took an unusual route downtown on the J. I sadly stopped taking the train since moving into Manhattan, so I was comforted by the familiarity of the station's buzz. As I waited for the train and pulled out my book, I was approached by an Asian woman. If I had to guess, she looked a few years younger than me. 24? 25? While I didn't think she was particularly well dressed, it was clear she put some thought into her outdated trendy appearance: dark eye liner, ombred hair under a beanie, cropped jeans, all white Stan Smiths. She asked me if she was waiting on the correct platform for her destination. I stated that she was. She then asked me which "exit" she needed to take, which was a clear indicator that she wasn't from the city. Not a minute later, she tells me she likes my coat. "Where is it from?" I sheepishly tell her it's from Forever 21, from forever ago. A common MTA announcement about suspicious packages fills the station. She asks me if that's why the train is delayed-- yet another piece of evidence that she wasn't from here, if asking me this many questions while waiting for the train wasn't enough evidence at this point.
We stand next to each other in the car, and I keep wondering if I should talk to her. I grew genuinely curious about where she was from. I had already sensed that she perhaps just moved here or is about to, with her "NYC Opportunities" tote bag, and believed she thought I could be a potential candidate to befriend in this new city, given my race and young-ish vibe. Perhaps she had just finished her orientation with some city government job or internship, and now had this free time to roam about. I could also sense she would have asked me another question if I didn't give off the impression that I didn't want to be bothered (a common misconception). After two stops, I wistfully watched her walk up the platform stairs from the car window.
It had probably been close to 10 years since I felt regret for not making a move to talk to someone. The surprise of feeling regret about this situation put me in a daze more so than the regret itself. Why did I suddenly care to make a friend? This feeling has been prominent since then. I've been less people-avoidant, especially new people. I started talking more to my colleague, I talked to my Uber driver, I talked to people at the wedding this past weekend. I know it sounds so mundane and normal, but it's not normal for me. So as a means of leaving social connections open, to rectify my losses, I present the harmless, sometimes irritating, almost always boring, Facebook. Meanwhile, I will continue to pick at this recent evolution.
