Where in the world are you? That’s my street up there – care to have a drink with me?
Blogs can become so impersonal… yes, you’ve read it correctly. Impersonal. Most create a persona, and even the ones who try to remain honest are always, and automatically, censoring little bits and pieces of information about themselves, their real and full beliefs and what is really going on with their lives.
Why do we do this? And more disturbing – why does it give us
pleasure reassurance about our own real life, if it has little to do with it?
Nowadays we can blog from any place and we do it with any frame of mind (go ahead and call it twitting, face-booking, or whatever fits your time with trivialities). Some of us strive on an inexplicable necessity to keep blogging even when that frame of mind doesn’t support it. It’s no news to anyone that we are becoming identities on-the-web, but few stop to think about why that is. “Evolution!” you might say.
Really? Can we evolve outside our real lives and beyond our real identities? Are we evolving, or just stalling a semi-adolescent thought-processor (you might call it brain, but I believe the old fellow is just too far gone, or else it would wake some sense in you) sustained by repeating the same unproductive tasks day in and day out?
Then of course, that much dedication to a persona makes our virtual identities seem far more interesting than our real ones. Many see it as real as any other flying bug, flapping our little bodies over the keys and curling our little hearts waiting for comments. But it’s the ritual that it’s active: the waiting, the pampering and the hope for it all to sound real enough to gather more followers. “World recognition!!” we dream; we aren’t real until we get it… we aren’t someone, any-one, it ! And in a way we’ll never be… because we aren’t living and breathing social beings. We aren’t real in society, on planet Earth, inside our own mind.
We haven’t been it for so long now that the word that defines what we are is: bored ! That’s what we are. Alive? It’s been so long that we forgot all about it and figure that having vital organs in all the right places must be enough to do the trick. Take a walk outside? Just keep on typing, no brains required. I wonder if it will come a time when we will stop reproducing – to much work, no web recognition… wait? Is that why people flash their baby’s photos all over social networking sites? Argh…
There is still a group of humans detached from all this, pumping new blood and doing the rounds: people that don’t have nor don’t care to have, a virtual identity. The Others. I don’t believe they are little in numbers, as most of my friends and family are them. And let me add that the good old-fashioned living, walking over real grass, chatting over a real drink and hugging with real arms, doesn’t seem to need the pixelated praises to live on happily. In fact, The Others seem much calmer than Us, less prone to gravitate around a computer after working hours or stress over internet stats and virtual accounts for no intelligent reason.
So why do we do it? Why do we reflex our minds to a keyboard, caress a mouse and talk to pixelated screens for hours at a time, trusting in whatever it comments back more than we trust our own judgment?