On the 21st of July, I signed up for Facebook. FB, Facey B, The Big Book (okay, nobody calls it that).
Everybody I knew had Facebook. People at school affectionately brought up semi-funny videos they’d seen in their feed; family member spoke of pages they followed, and young children generally knew more of that dark blue tone than I did.
The thing about being a teenager is you so often are forced into doing the same thing as the rest. As I’ve mentioned before, I can’t stand today’s pop music, I don’t really care for drinking at such an age, and I’m still not entirely sure what ‘the feels’ means. But people were forgetting to add me to events (apparently texting me and my twin sister is too hard) and I was being left behind.
And so, there I was. Spent a whole morning getting my hair curled and applying oodles of product to my face, only to have one, exactly-square photo to prove it. My profile picture did get quite a few likes, but I couldn’t help but think that some of the comments of “Stunning, Chelsea!” and “You’re so gorgeous, omg!” were only feigned in order for me to return the favour, given that the commenters had never cared that much about me in my life.
I’ve had quite a few chats on that site lately. Some of them are awfully boring, and I find them utterly pointless. Some, however, have been invigorating; I was able to reunite with a few people from last term’s acting class whom I wouldn’t have been able to contact otherwise, as well as a sprinkle of people from primary school whose puberty angel seemed to be kinder to them than mine.
Some of the friend requests have been so odd. No, random 12 year-old who I’ve probably passed once in my entire life, I do not wish to stay in contact. And you, girl who teased me in the eighth grade, we’re not ‘friends’, no matter what social media may tell you. My father approached me yesterday, asking me why I was not friends with him on Facebook. I had no good reason: but perhaps in the future I’ll have some chaotic party I won’t want him to see the evidence of.
Still, I plunged forward. In the weeks I’ve been on Facebook, I’ve witnessed memes and created my own event, and now I guess I can say I’m a Normal Teenager. That being said, I must continue to stay true to myself. I allowed myself a cover image of the Rat Pack: I do have a penchant for the past, after all. ★