Social media posts like these actually share similarities with most (international) development campaigns: they flatten and oversimplify what was supposed to be an intricate concept. Instead of at least eliminating a portion of the problem, this approach aggravate the matter by unknowingly tossing more messes and becoming a vehicle of social exclusion.
Another example that executes this method can be found in fully funded trips wherein the selection of participants lies entirely in the number of Facebook likes. Then, they would launch this campaign that aims to eradicate poverty through fun run, or conserve water by skipping your daily baths. This proper way of misallocating the reserves is actually — disappointingly enough — the dominant practice of the uncritical youths and uncritical organizations of the century.
Sa mga karirista at pabebeng kabataan, pasintabi kay Jose Rizal.
No, actually, I don’t want to discuss these things. I don’t want to know about your childhood, your insecurities, your secret dreams as well your definition of existence. I don’t want to know about the first time you have bruised your heart, or your favourite scent — whether you like Chrysanthemum or old manuscripts. You see, I don’t want to discover your flaws and the fundamental errors of your being. I don’t want to battle acceptance to have you fully — I don’t want any internal struggle for that matter. I, as of the moment, am not fit for that. I am filled with contempt from anything that clashes against my inherent demons — ideals, principles, preferences, perfection. I have been bleeding these past few months, and I admit, I am approaching loss in that battlefield. So let us not make this harder for each other and save ourselves. Let’s have some stupid small talk instead, and kill the conversation eventually. I don’t want to bury you underneath my skin, until you become a vital part of me. I don’t want that. I don’t want that. I don’t want that.
You can decipher the phase of a relationship based on the substance and content of the conversations. There is excitement at the beginning, to communicate oneself, build a common ground and connection. There is understanding in the middle, the desire to meet halfway, settle the differences and come up with a resolution. And, in almost the end — almost the end — there is exhaustion, and refusal to listen, consider and understand the other. Contempt and secret hatred accumulate. Conflict becomes normal.
But there is also hope — that after these, it will transcend the boundary of cruelty and nascent possibilities will emerge. Compassion, perhaps.
Watching the communication pattern of relationships as it integrates and disintegrates from one period to another is fascinating and dejecting at the same time. Like death is an inevitable requisite of evolution, and in the course of our affection and human existence, we die in thousand, bitter ways, and burst in thousand, bitter shards. Then, after that, we piece ourselves together, evolve, and form galaxies.