Facebook fetish

 “You must be on Facebook,aren’t you? Just look them up and keep connected”, he said causing me to squirm embarressedly since I still belonged to the rarest of people yet to own a Facebook account, or for that matter have  a following on Twitter.

Thinking I should perhaps make a beginning I sought to create an account only to realise it involved filling up an entirely elaborate form, choc-a-block with details about yours truly from hobbies to favourite quotes to groups I was member of.

By now, I was truly exasperated with the notion of an application that claimed to be a fun way of connecting with people but having at its core much of the fundamental structuring behind every CV. Really this was anything but fun! However, I decided not to throw my hands up in despair so prematurely.

I was determined to gain an insight into into ‘complex workings’ and tentatively moved on to ‘add as friends’ a chosen few friends with whom I regularly corresponded. My list now boasted of a modest band of five, and, yes, I seem to have finally been bitten by the Facebook bug! I just couldn’t stop looking up my page daily to see if there weren’t any comments on my wall nor could I stop myself checking status updates of my friends.


All of a sudden, I realised the repercussions of having an account. If I commented on someone’s page it was reflected on my account. Ten thousand different people would be in the know of it. If I pasted a picture of me sunbathing in Jamaica, well, it would be notified in the accounts of all my friends’ pages at least until I altered the settings otherwise. Whatever be it, I found to difficult to tear myself away form the Facebook.

Everyday began with the resolution not to log in to Facebook and ended with me giving way rather too meakly to my temptation. It was only a matter of time I got entrapped in the web of games such as Farmville.

At night, when I lay awake instead of counting sheep, I now had a new hobby — logging in to Facebook to check for status updates. Just when things threatened to spiral out of control, I put my foot down and decided I would log in to Facebook only once a while.

But alas! My resolution proved to be all too weak since only two days later I logged in to be startled by ‘friend requests’ from 30 people. Pleasantly surprised that through one of my ‘friends network’, a whole lot of old school pals were trying to contact me, I was thrilled and decided to add as friends all of them without even ‘screening’ them. The results were out in a matter of time. It seemed that of the intrepid band of 30, I actually knew only one or two really well.

The rest of them were there for the number game —they just wanted more numbers in their own list! Be what may I felt I had definitely ‘arrived’. For days, I felt I was walking on air! I couldn’t stop checking for messages daily, hourly, nay, every minute, till finally my obsession with Facebook bordered on an obsession beyond compare.

At home, I seemed to spare not a moment with my family and often neglected my parents when they called me for a tete-a- tete. My mother, to her constant irritation, found me glued perpetually to Facebook. Finally things came to such a pass that my mother delivered her ultimatum, “Log in less or else face the consequence… a complete shutdown of your account… If you don’t have the time to spare for those near you, then  what use creating a puffed up sense of importance by having 200 friends on your page with whom you rarely chat.”

Hearing her wise words I saw the folly of my ways, and decided forthwith to give a decent burial to my Facebook fetish. I daresay my neighbour Mrs K was happy to see me out in the garden the next morning; her voice mirrored her chirpiness, “Hello, so you managed to tear yourself from the web and spare a few words with us golden oldies…” I squirmed but could see much truth in her words. My supreme obsession with Facebook had as its casualty all my relationships with friends and kith and kin; I was happy to be back.

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