Time doesn’t heal all wounds, but nostalgia…
[Original title: “Myspace, my memories”]
I’ve now become somewhat addicted to myspace, and I think I know why.
Myspace is a facsimile, or rather, a reminder of the old life. The high school/junior high life. It has all of the people you used to know acting the way you used to know them, and that brings contentment.
I wasn’t especially popular in high school. People knew me, people liked me, or at least they appeared to to my face, which is just as well. But even though I didn’t particularly enjoy high school, I enjoyed the societal framework that existed within it. I was the person I was supposed to be, the person I was meant to be. High school didn’t define me as a person, but all of the people I had known for the past ten or twelve years did. I was who they wanted me to be. I filled my role, and it was comfortable. It was comfortable to be a smartass or a pervert or a clever, witty guy or a slacker, because that’s what people wanted when they saw me. They knew who I was, so I did as well.
High school is not a great place, and it wasn’t that great for me. But all I can remember is the good stuff. When I’m on myspace and I see the pictures of the people I used to know, I remember the good experiences, and the comfort. Which is odd, it really is. I don’t want to name names because even though I know no one will likely ever find their way here or read this, I’d rather not sacrifice my anonymity and face consequences, however minor those consequences might be. So forgive me for speaking in generalities.
It’s odd because I dislike a lot of the people I see, especially the girls. I have a gut reaction of “faggot” when I see someone who’s twenty and can’t write coherently or has a goofy expression on his face. My eyes roll in my head and I feel immediately superior, but I don’t feel the hate I feel toward the girls I used to know with their plastered on smiles and disingenuity.
This is obviously hypocritical because I am one of the most disingenuous people you’ll ever meet. I often smile and laugh when I am completely disinterested or sometimes when I’m completely enraged. But when they do it, I don’t know. It just makes me angrier than I should be. Maybe I’m a misogynist. Who knows? But when I see them on myspace, I don’t think of that at first. I remember all of the times I saw her during school and the kind words and the genuine smiles. I have to work to hate them because those aren’t the first memories that come up.
Time doesn’t heal all wounds, but nostalgia does a good job as an anesthetic.