I Love Facebook (don’t hate me)
Facebook is awesome. I never thought I’d say that, but after finally caving in to public pressure and creating my account last week, I’m starting to see what all the fuss has been about.
I’ve always been anti-Facebook, anti-MySpace, anti-Bebo, anti-anything which resembles social networking. I’m not really sure why I felt like that, probably because I was three weeks later than everyone else when they first got their Myspace page, back when Myspace was still cool. So I figured stuff it, if I’m late to a trend I might as well not be in it. A trend’s only worth being in if you set it, no point being a follower. I’ll be anti-trend (“got any blacker…?”). Cos that’s how I roll \m/.
I’ve always been sceptical about these things because to me, they are just tools for people to present an image of themselves which have no correlation to their real life personalities. You might be boring as bat shit, but if you put a few photos of yourself with beer in hand surrounded by funky, fun looking people, then suddenly you look like you have a normal social life. For some instant street cred, throw in a camera phone video of you and your mates doing something hardcore like trashing a milk carton. Add some underground, too-cool-for-mainstream, you’ll-only-have-heard-of-us-if-you-think-dolphins-drink-rainbow band’s single in the background (which they are promoting through Myspace, follow the link to get a copy …) and you shall thus become a cool kid on the web.
So yes, I had been a lone voice in my stand against social networking tools. I was the last one out of my group of friends to get Facebook (which, by the way, won me a case of beers off a doubting mate). I figured if people wanted to contact me, they can do it the old fashion way – email me.
However, a recent trip to Hong Kong changed my mind. Being Hong Kongian and having not returned for a visit for around five years, my two week trip would of course be filled with family engagements. After taking about a million photos (they are Asian after all), my various cousins, aunts, uncles, etc, told me that they would post it all on their Facebook page to share, and that I should open one too so that we could keep in touch. So, with a hunch of my shoulders and a tear in my eye, I agreed to open my own page and join the rest of the world.
So the first task was to decide on my profile picture. My initial reaction was to not have one, to leave it blank, just to be different. But then I thought no, if I’m going to join Facebook, I’ll do it properly. So the next decision was which photo to put. Do I go for the webcam shot (which screams “I don’t really care about this…whatever dude”)? Or do I pick out one of me being active/funny/drunk/pulling a face (repercussions of which are discussed in the third paragraph)? I settle for a recent shot of me holding my little nephew. It screams “caring, gentle, single male.”
Then I get a message. Someone wants to be friends. Ok, no problems, a few friends won’t hurt, that’s why I’ve created this page after all. Confirm as friends. Log off, goto bed.
Following morning, I check my email and I’m inundated with friends’ requests. Close friends who accompany their requests with witty (but repetitive) comments about me caving in, people I went to school with years ago who’s only conversation with me during those teenage years was to tell me I wasn’t cool enough, Contiki friends whom I spent a drunken and blurred two weeks in Europe with, and of course several people who I have absolutely no recognition of.
Doesn’t matter, I accept them all.
In one night I made 22 cyber friends, which is more than what I can say for any night in my real life.
Soon I’m receiving gifts. Then I’m getting invitations to play poker. I have people starting conversations with me whilst I’m logged in. I’m taking my friends’ advice and joining groups, groups who I don’t even like the sound of, but yet it gives me a warm and fuzzy feeling of belonging. I then get notices telling me I’m getting tagged on photos, like I finally have a part in this story that my friends and I are creating together (increased warm and fuzzy sense of belonging). I get people commenting on my wall. So I comment on theirs. I start using abbreviations like LOL and drawing little :) faces. The use of capitals soon escapes me. I get more friends. I get more gifts. So far I’ve racked up a couple of beers, a lemon tea, a pack of smokes (which, coincidentally, is more than what I received during my last birthday drinks) and from one extremely generous friend, a Playstation 3.
I wake up everyday now, eagerly awaiting my lappy to load up, so I can log in to see how many friend requests I got overnight, how many gifts I received, how many new comments on my wall and my photos. I also check during lunch, once in the afternoon, and usually remain logged on for most of the night, just in case someone wants to start a conversation with me.
In less than a week, I have around 50 friends (40 whom I know I’ll never ever talk to), I’m tagged in about 60 photos, most of which are of me holding a beer/smoke/bong/any other cool person’s item and hanging out with good looking, funky people, and one video of my mates and I dropping 24 Jagerbombs without a break in chain.
But most importantly, when I Google my name, I’m the fifth entry on the third page (and it would be higher if it wasn’t for an Asian actress named Patricia Mok).
