Any of my true friends can tell you one thing about me: I do not have a Facebook. From both friends and random people alike, this declaration has been met with a variety of reactions: surprise being the first, followed closely by admiration. In rare cases, there is indifference, but the first two definitely trump all others. The responses of admiration always make me laugh the hardest internally, and typically go something like this:
“Oh, that’s so good!” “That’s not something you hear everyday!” “I can understand why!”
These responses are then met with reasons why it’s good NOT to have a Facebook, as if I need the reassurance that I am making a wise decision. I always want to say, “No likes necessary,” because that’s the type of person I’ve always been; however, it has not always been the case that I have been Facebook-less.
Rewind to that fateful day in tenth grade, when my mother busts into the house to declare that she must, I mean MUST, see my Myspace.
“Jumaane, you could be doing drugs. You could have guns in this house. I don’t know WHAT you’re doing. I was listening to the radio, and I need to see your Myspace.” Continue reading