I’ve too much time on my hands today. I don’t think I have enough.
I’m currently ripping CDs on my brother’s laptop. I guess these would be music he’s not glint to be really interested in, but I’ll rip them anyway. I intend to burn them on to a CD later to give to a friend. She’s been egging me to burn her a CD of music for the longest time, music that I’m currently into and am currently listening to. I’m not quite sure if she’s banking on my indiscriminate taste, if there is such a thing, but I’m not one to let a friend down. Not that often anyway.
I’m just waiting for the rip to stop. I’ve got my Facebook open on the other window. For lack of anything else to do, and not wanting to waste my time alone on the computer for today, not to mention my time alone in the house, my brother and his family went to my parent’s place in the mountains, and my other brother went to the dentist, I started browsing the other people I have on my status feed on Facebook, deciphering where they are now and what they’ve been doing in their lives.
I must say, I envy most of these friends I have. They have the life I think they’ve always wanted. Some of them have gone far, literally, travelling and trotting in different countries. Some have even permanently moved to other countries. Most of them are living the life they’ve dreamed of, working in their dream jobs, if not working doing something that they really love to do. Some have their own families already, or are starting one, some are in committed long-term relationships that have gone for, hey, I don’t know, more years than any of my past relationships have lasted. Yes, I envy them. I envy them all.
Twenty-six years of breathing and living and doing what I believe is the right thing to do; of making decisions and trying my best to choose what is the better choice, those that might not be great, but better nonetheless; of slugging it out in the real professional world, getting paid mu dues and working; of staying in one place, in the heart of the city, making do with what I have and with that I can reach; and where has that taken me? Where has that left me? I don’t know. Somewhere here I guess, I can’t even determine exactly where.
That’s one thing I hate about Facebook. Everyone else looks happy from the outside except you and your own miserable and insignificant life. You can never tell who checked out your profile. unlike in Friendster, it’s a competition. You can easily tell who checked you out in the same way they will know that you checked them out. On one hand, the insigificance of life is shared, and on the other, you get to compete with your other Friendster friends in terms of their lives: who has the better life now? Yes, you can opt to view profiles anonymously and therefore not find out who’s checking you out too, but where’s the fun in that? Where’s the fun in stalking someone and them not knowing that they’re being stalked? Where’s the drama in having a stalker whom you don’t even know is stalking you in the first place? Do you really even have a stalker to begin with, or is that just you and your paranoid imagination? Do you really think you’re interesting enough to be stalked, that you’re even that remotely compelling as a person?
Browsing through Facebook can be both a fun and sad affair. It’s a one way stalking exercise. And the thing is, no one will even know.