I’ve “deleted” my Facebook account.
I was never really on this trend, in fact, I was resistant towards it because of the amount of personal information is shunted between individuals (this coming from a guy who’s had a personal vanity blog since 2004). I was never comfortable with the amount of “work” it felt like just to maintain your profile. And on top of that, I don’t want to go to a hugely public website to find out that a family member, albeit a distant cousin or someone I knew when I was regrettably young and without sense, is in mourning for losing a pet or is celebrating the removal of their 11th toe. There’s something cold in that. Honestly, I could get more fulfilling online interaction from a Party Bingo chat room. I originally started into the site out of curiosity and then used it as a big old RSS feed for this blog, which, by the way, didn’t increase my page visits.
The thing that made me snap was my last “friend” confirmation. I got a message from the guy I use to verbally berate and call “fag” in high school. I see this guy around the village every so often and try really hard not to make eye contact. My behaviour back then was cowardly and stupid and the weight of embarrassment is too much to bear. So instead of accepting his “friend request” in what might have been a hand reaching out as a symbol of forgiveness I hit “delete”. Apparently I’m still a coward and a homophobe.
That’s why I hate Farcebook. Some things should stay unmentioned and in your past.