I permanently deleted my moderately active Instagram account. What happened next should not blow your mind…

After a long time of romanticizing with the idea of leading the life of a digital saint, on December 5th, 2019, I took an impulsive leap and got myself out of one of Mark Zuckerberg’s “The Pit” platforms. Much like in the movie, these pits offer its “prisoners” escape and I took the leap, much like how the boy who escaped did, without the rope.

I would like to think we all have, at least once, thought of getting off all the social media and go complete S-level ninja on our digital footprint. I researched on it. I read a lot of articles that asked us to be aware of the personal data we are permitting other sites/applications to access. And over one weekend, I got really excited about creating my own platform where I don’t store any information about anyone and let them freely interact and share knowledge (which I do realize now, how terribly would have failed). Came across a bunch of concepts and terms — being the prominent one. And I promise you, it isn’t as lovely as it sounds.

Anyway, I did what I thought I had to do. And much like any true Marvel fan (specifically the MCU bit; never cared enough to get to the comics), I knew that the hardest choices require the strongest wills.

Day One

I could lie about how I planned the thing through, and I am so happy now that I have done it. But since I clearly don’t intend to lie, I will admit it was an impulsive decision, and I now think maybe I wasn’t ready.

I was a moderately active Instagram user. Like 5 to 6 hours of daily average usage after a standard 9 hours job and a pretty updated binged-that-popular-show-last-night-on-Netflix life.

I updated my stories like a normal person with memes that I liked, beautiful snaps of places I visited with captions and hashtags that a handful of my friends and I thought were cool, photogenic food items that I don’t remember the taste of and occasionally a story post about the current social cause. So yeah, pretty normal — for the narcissist millennial, I am.

Once I deleted the account, something changed in me. I was becoming a self-righteous prick. I argued with people who were still on their Instagrams, urged them to see the error in their ways. I kept bringing up the fact that I was no longer on Instagram and quoted lousy facts about data from Netflix’s during lunch breaks.

It was all good until it hit me — I have *permanently* deleted all my semi-naked selfies (actually just one) and fake-candids on Thailand beaches. No one is going to know that I read Murakami last winter when I went home. No stranger is going to stalk my account and see that I was ramp walking in a make-believe corporate fashion show. I am anxious. Have I made a mistake? I have made a mistake. I should have just deactivated that bloody thing…

Edit: I followed it up with a not-so-liked Part 2.

wandering through infinities of Space and Time and looking the world through small ambitious eyes behind prescription glasses

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