My desires haven’t changed. I still crave the interactions of an awkward silence on the train home and the irritability that complements our sleepovers. Mystery is important: an aid for privacy and an attribute that complements our curious nature. It’s not fair to cast all judgment on social media. But the deactivation of my avatar revived the authentic me.
I was mistaken; I accepted all terms and conditions thinking I would find authentic connection. Don’t get me wrong, I am forever grateful for the accessibility to memes and the critical scrutiny of our political leaders. I accepted the terms and conditions expecting to be closer to you. The day I decided to be offline was the day my connections grew. Like synapses, neurogenesis—a newfound desire to understand you.
Instagram took away my agency to discover who people were internally. The daily glimpses of four-second insights into your day dissatisfied my curious eye. The four-second exposures into what your circadian rhythm allowed you to do were not enough. Deactivating my Instagram brought back the nervous and intentional tick to ask you on a brunch date or to check up on you with sincerity. It brought back sensitivity to my ecosystem—who do I want in my life? I became particular with who had my number and more. Can I have your number? Please?