A foundational principle that underpins the basis of my current value system is humility. Sometimes I was taught humility when I saw my mother visit hospitals to wash bed-bound people’s hair. Or in how my mother would use self-deprecating language to refer to herself. Sometimes it would be in how many hours she would spend preparing birthday surprises for us children or for my dad, or in how she looked after my grandparents when they got old.
When I was in my twenties, I was so sure about my views and opinions. I believed that my first-five-second assessment of a person is indisputable. My level of opinionatedness (new word, feel free to use it) knew no bounds. My humility went into temporary hibernation. And yet, my friends of many years would tell you that something critical I appreciated about them was what I could learn from them. It was what I considered made them better than me that attracted me to them. My desire to learn meant that I associated with people who I looked up to, admired. And I still do. It’s not a credit I take; it’s an insatiable need I was born with.
In those days – in the nineties and early 2000s – I only mingled with people IRL. With the advent of the Facebooks and Twitters and Googles and the like, my mingling has become somewhat more virtual. My time has also become less abundant, and I therefore chose to place my physical self in the company of those who feed my soul. Yet, I did also enjoy connecting on a light level with those whose online life is connected with mine.
Recently, however, I’ve noticed that my timeline is becoming considerably less compelling than it used to be. I used to vicariously visit interesting places and see interesting things. I learnt of new places and activities across the country and even abroad. I saw what others saw and shared some of their life in that way.
But right now, all I seem to see is the “others”.
It’s selfie upon selfie. And far in the background, largely hidden behind a head or five, is the scenery or the event or the thing I would’ve found interesting in the past. I see only the faces I already know, sometimes sharing my screen with some other faces I don’t know and whose owners I’m never likely to meet. I see selfies. Pictures with the self as its subject. My timeline is madly skewed towards this.
I used to just scroll past these posts, thereby indicating to Facebook that it should show me fewer such pictures. Please!
Until a week or two ago, when someone close to me, whom I greatly respect, also posted a selfie of her new hairstyle. To my great delight. Because it’s the first time in many, many months that this person has hair, following months of brain surgeries, chemo and radiation. She has enough hair to warrant a visit to a hairdresser, some highlights and an actual cut.
That’s the kind of selfie I can admire. That’s the kind of selfie I wish to see. Show me all the really meaningful selfies. I want to celebrate them. I want to wish those people luck and congratulate them on their incredible courage – even the courage it took to post the selfie with the (often still-patchy) hair.
Show me meaningful selfies and I will not scroll past. I promise.
(Unless it says “like and share to show support”, that is. Because that kind of “call to action” most likely didn’t come from the sick person, but rather from the someone exploiting that person.)