"Off the grid" and "outside the box"

22 Nov 2024

"I like being off the grid," I'd always grin and reply, during the times when some of my friends would complain about how they wouldn't be able to tag me in yet another group photo on Instagram. It never bothered me that I was not part of this online social sphere that my friends took part in.

Sometimes I'd hear mentions of some new happenings that they knew about others from these online updates, and I'd shamelessly ask them about it. More than once, I've heard my younger and very on-trend friend reply with slight exasperation, "Aiya, go make one already lah." I never did. I'm stubborn in the things I believe.¹

It's funny how I never really hopped on the bandwagon when it came to all these internet social things, even when everyone else I knew was a part of it. In secondary school, whilst all my classmates were exchanging testimonials, I would proudly declare that I did not have a Friendster account.

I was only in my early teens, but it seemed that I must have had a mind of my own because I really couldn't understand the hype and point of it all. I'm supposed to write a glowing testimony about each of my friends?—even the ones that I don't know well? I'd read the testimonials my classmates and schoolmates wrote about each other and sometimes wonder how true they all were.²

Maybe it's because I grew up reading so much, but I've always been conscious about the depth and meaning of words. I don't like to misuse them, and especially when it comes to writing, I only write what I truly mean. I also don't often give compliments. But when I say that I like something or that something is good, you can believe me that my words are sincere.

After secondary school, Friendster made way for Facebook, and again, I was staunchly against having one. Everyone was farming there and adding each other as neighbours. When I finally created a Facebook account, it wasn't to play FarmVille or to connect with friends. No, the impetus to make my first social media account was to play (insert drumroll) a word game. No surprise there, huh? I don't even remember the name of the game, but I know that I played it solo, and it probably required me to form words.

For some time in my early twenties, after the creation of my Facebook account and rather belatedly, I finally joined the social media game. I posted on Facebook, Instagram, Tumblr and Twitter. I had some fun there as the experience was novel to me.

A few years in, and one day, it dawned on me that I was really quite bored—bored of the scrolling, bored of reading people's life updates and just bored of this whole social media thing. I wasn't really interested to know the details of everyone's everyday life when it was presented in this way. I'd rather very much hear the details (even if in a more condensed version) of your life, from you, in person, when we meet.

It's been ten years since I've had a social media account, and I haven't really missed it at all. Maybe I've just never been too social of a person in the first place. I mean, people rarely ask for my socials because I don't get close enough to them for it to be something on the cards.

At almost all of my past workplaces (there were five), I was either a loner or a loner with some friendships that were contained only to the workplace. Only at my fourth workplace did I end up having a group of colleagues who turned into friends that I still meet up with today. And the only reason that I made it into that clique was because I had a friend who was already in it. Otherwise, I think I might have had trouble trying to form deeper friendships organically.

Social media aside, I see many instances in my life where I have deliberately gone against the grain and just done my own thing—living in my own little bubble. It's odd how I can sometimes not care about fitting in, even when there's a part of me that does yearn for that sense of belonging. But I suppose I am clear that I am looking not just to belong in a group but to be in a group where I belong.

I didn't get a phone until I was nineteen. I didn't even want one. "I like being uncontactable," I remember saying to my secondary school friend. I only had one because it was a hand-me-down from my sister, probably so she could get a new one. I think it was a pale pink and white LG flip phone. I explored it like a shiny new toy. But if the opportunity hadn't presented itself, I'd probably have continued to be phoneless for an even longer time.³ I even remember being slightly disappointed to break my phoneless streak. It was like losing a part of my identity, and I had to accept that now I would be just like everyone else.

When I was thirteen, I went around my classroom fundraising for my chicken chop fund. This meal was a luxury for me, and I had the brilliant idea that if I collected a few cents from a lot of people, I'd finally be able to enjoy one. My friends were surprisingly kind (they did have bigger allowances), and I did end up getting the chicken chop from the school canteen. I think I even surpassed my fundraising target and was able to afford a drink along with that meal.

When I was seventeen, I would go around feeling for left-behind change from the vending machines that I passed at school. I'd feel so accomplished the few times that I did pick up some coins. I'm embarrassed by all these now. But back then, I had grown up with an awareness that we didn't have enough, so I ended up developing some cheapskate tendencies.

When I was nineteen, I bought myself a Flik Flak watch and wore it everywhere. It was the watch I had always wanted, the one my friends had, and the one we couldn't afford. So there I was at nineteen, wearing a Flik Flak, when others my age would have long ago moved on to more adult-like and mature things. (At one point I even made and wore paper watches. I printed out the watch designs I liked and cut them out.)

Around that time, I also had a phase where I explored different sleeping locations for my amusement. (Yes, because just sleeping on my mattress itself was boring. I have no idea what to think about the thoughts I had back then.) For the record, I slept behind the front door, on the coffee table, under a chair and under my mattress. I wonder sometimes what my mum thought about the strange child she gave birth to.

I did all these strange and silly things to entertain myself. I remember once saying that I needed to do crazy things to stay sane. I was rather quirky back then. I think much of that was caused by boredom—hello ADHD that I didn't know about then—though I'm less physically restless now than I was before.

I have definitely mellowed over the years, and as I consider my history of being off the grid and outside the box, I'm reminded of a thought I had recently. Childhood was marked by innocence, and youth was a time of passion, but what of my thirties? It surely isn't wisdom, though I wish it would be. After the innocence of childhood and the passions of youth have gone, what's left?—adulting?

I don't have an answer, and all I know now is that I must uncover the things that are worth keeping and hold them close. And being stubborn in the things I believe is one of them.