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Showing posts with label Rant. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rant. Show all posts

Saturday 30 June 2018

Suicide on the Underground

On the 28th of June 2018, I was in the presence of a train jumper. I had just arrived at the Bow Road Westbound platform and casually strolled to the far end where there were less people to cramp my superior style. The train was pulling into the station, and then with its nose protruding only few meters out of the tunnel, it abruptly stopped. I thought nothing of it. We’ve all seen this type of thing happen before. I have enough interesting thoughts to entertain me in the meantime.

Pretty soon, however, the atmosphere began to change. It wasn’t one of blind panic or terrified screams, which I guess is what I would have expected. Instead, it was a quiet hum of concern, people cautiously approaching the train, exchanging wide-eyed glances, some of them covering their mouths. In hindsight, this was the eeriest part of my whole story. The train driver got out of his special compartment and spent a few minutes apprehensively peering beneath the vehicle. It was in that moment that I first thought, “Oh my, is this a suicide scene?” but I also thought, “Perhaps the train just broke,” and I also thought, “There is a bomb here and we are all about to die”. Is it wrong to admit that I felt a glimmer of excitement?

Following shortly after was the announcement that we all had to evacuate the station immediately. The small crowd made their way to the exit and I stretched my lobes out, hoping to catch some juicy information from the passersby. I heard a lady talking about blood. Someone else mentioned they could see a hand beneath the wheels. Ok, so suicide confirmed then. I tapped out at the barrier, and shamefully my brain mumbled to me, “I bet they are still going to charge us for that”.

Leaving the station and walking the journey to the next one, I did feel a bit spooked. But more than that, I was acutely aware that I'd just experienced something I had never experienced before. It blew my mind that a man (or perhaps a woman? I don’t know) who I may have even made eye contact with, had just snuffed their existence away. By choice. There was an energy which powered a human body in that station, and then it wasn't there anymore, set free not far from where I stood. I did not know how I was supposed to feel about that, so instead, I just took the most logical next step I could think of and promptly updated my Facebook status, informing the world that my brain had been through something new.

90% of my friends responded by asking me if I was ok. This amused and confused me. Of course I was ok! I didn’t jump in front of a train, did I? If anything, whatever problems I may have been going through at that time, were swiftly slapped into place, sit the fuck down. All things considered, I was fantastic, really. The thought of jumping in front of a train hadn’t even crossed my mind that day, and yet there was this poor evaporated soul, so tortured that he had committed his afternoon schedule entirely to getting rid of himself. How ridiculous would it be for me to not be ok? What's more, I got drunk not long after this, and then I was really ok.

The next day when I awoke, I felt different. One part of this was certainly the hangover. Another part was the realisation that a life had been flattened by a giant machine, spread across the tracks like butter. But there was yet another part which was far worse than all of this. It was the inevitable British trademark where individuals felt the need to express their opinion to me that any train jumper was a selfish person, and that this is where our primary focus should lie.

There would be an element of hypocrisy in my words if I pretended to not understand this stance. Reportedly, around 100–150 suicides take place on the London Underground network every year. As a Londoner, it becomes a part of your life. “Sorry for the delay, ladies and gentleman, but there’s been a person on the track". Oh God, not now! I’m running late as it is! And here I am stuck on this packed carriage with my nose in somebody’s armpit, plus a baby is crying. I’m uncomfortable and this is very inconvenient for me. How am I expected to rise towards some moral podium while I'm stewing in an emotional pit of frustration? It seems like a bit much to ask, really.

In times like these, it is simpler to label this victim as a “selfish” person, not only because they may have potentially interrupted thousands of people’s day, but also because there are witnesses we need to consider too. People who have now seen something which will remain tattooed on their mind for the rest of their days. And then there's the driver who was accidentally responsible for a final breath, now carrying that demon on the back of their conscience until they pass themselves. Hell, I didn’t even see the incident take place, and I am still shook by it.

However, in my heart, I knew this was the wrong way to look at it, and now more than ever, I feel an absolute disgust by such a nonchalant disregard. Here is a human who was so lost within our world that they truly felt the need to end it all. It's a turmoil so complex that you can’t simply write it off with one meager word. And then if you take this tragedy and turn it around, focusing on the ordeal until it becomes about you, whining over how the death of a person slowed your day down, then I struggle to see how the “selfish” brand doesn’t fit your size perfectly. This is the epitome of a self-centered attitude, is it not?

Said misdirected “selfish” argument, of course, is not one against suicidal people. I doubt anyone who utters the word does so from a hostile position, intentionally undermining the agony which surrounds such a terrible event. Rather, it is an animosity towards this individual's chosen method of self-destruction. With so many wonderful suicide options available, why would someone select this specific angle? Why don’t they perform the act quietly at home, by hanging themselves, overdosing on pills, slitting their wrists, or dropping a toaster into the bathtub? At least this way, these disturbed characters get their happy little death wish, while we can arrive at wherever we’re going on time, none the wiser. Why do this to us? Why do it this way?

I know why. You see, I used to have this friend named Amy. About 10 years ago, she jumped in front of a train, and she killed herself. Perhaps it's because I can put a face to the episode, but it did help me to understand the plan from a unique perspective. People who jump in front of a train are not pussies. These are men and women who are wholeheartedly dedicated to their cause. They don’t want to live, they don’t want to fuck around, they don’t want a chance to change their mind. It’s a one-step maneuver which requires minimal preparation, all for the price of a one-way train ticket. You can make this decision and you can carry out the action within a very short timeframe. The complete process from point A to B doesn’t even have to be premeditated, you can hand in your notice and leave the building in less than a second. The thought of whether you make someone late for work was probably not your underlying concern here. Your concern was that you wanted to die, and this little procedure should get the job done nicely.

It’s the insensitivity towards these people that bothers me. If your friend is perpetually haunted by the compulsion to jump in front of a train, and yet you stigmatize the operation as one of “selfishness”, then they are not going to ask you for help. If you call yourself the victim when there are families left behind to pick up the pieces, then you have truly lost the connection to your fellow species. And if you pretend to understand what was going through a person’s mind before they dive face-first into the steel wheels of a moving train without having done it yourself, then perhaps you should take a moment to ask yourself how many people know what is going on in your life right now.

I was going to end this piece by telling you how I've been feeling since I witnessed this incident. But as I emphasised before, how selfish would that be of me?


Thursday 24 May 2018

10 Things I Learned When I Quit Social Media for 213.5 hours

10 Things I Learned When I Quit Social Media for 213.5 hours

Remember the other day when everyone freaked out about Facebook? Ironically, our news feeds were plagued with disdain towards the very platform they were being broadcasted on. It was as if an army of annoying parasites were cursing the host that fed it, even though this was the only thing keeping them alive. What's more, these festering creatures sure had a lot to say! Our data was being misused! Our privacy was under threat! I hereby swear my allegiance to the #DeleteYourFacebook movement! No more shall I be a part of such a blatant exploitation of the information I have happily surrendered up until this point! I am not a sheep like the rest of you, and instead, I will follow these other people over here! And we will remain undetected while reigning supreme!

Myself, I rose above such mass hysterical nonsense. I called its bluff, convinced that yet another panicked fad was corrupting the vulnerable little minds of our agitated society, and when I peered over the side of my pedestal the other day, it seems like I was correct. Again. Because do you know where those people are now? They're still on Facebook.

Eventually, this mad hype calmed its dribble, and then I jumped ship anyway. I did so in the most hypocritical manner I could possibly muster too, by posting a lone image across all of my social media accounts, dramatically making a big deal out of my departure with a grand announcement, one which provided no reasoning behind the decision. My hope was to provoke some light concern among my friendship group. I wanted them to ask questions. Had something terrible happened to Jared? Who hurt him? Was this a cry for help? Were we about to find this guy face-first in a bucket of dirty shower water? An intentional drowning? Nothing left behind but a suicide note which simply read, "So long, and thanks for all the Likes"?

No such luck, peasants. Rather, my trusty iPhone was having some hardware issues, and those friendly geniuses at the Apple store deemed it best to wipe all of my contents clean. My optimistic reprogramming told me that this may very well be an opportunity. I hesitated before diving back into the mass app installation process, and then opted to gently step away from the digital scene instead. I took a breather. I reevaluated my real life. I tested whether or not I even existed outside of this online persona I had so carefully crafted for myself. Believe me, I had my doubts.

My initial goal was to make it to 14 days, otherwise known as two weeks. After a while, I changed that into 11 days, which was still two weeks in working day numbers. I then reduced that to 10 days, because it’s a nicer number, I prefer it. In the end, I nearly made it to nine days. 213.5 hours, to be exact. But what had broken me? Had my online addiction overwhelmed my otherwise impenetrable integrity? Was my premature reconnection a result of deteriorated willpower? No. I had returned because my people needed me.

Here are 10 things I learned during my time of electronic solitude:

1. A stream of chatter immediately stopped running through my brain.

It was the voices of my friends! All day long, you guys are like blah blah blah, married kids food holiday gym feminism blaaaah. Omg, you mean I can turn that off? That shit was driving me crazy!

2. My battery lasted longer.

This is probably more of a moo benefit because it's like a cow's opinion. It just doesn't matter. Obviously you’ll have more battery! But you’ll also have nothing to use it on! Maybe I’ll just check my bank balance again. Nope, still nothing.

3. My phone’s entire purpose became uncertain.

For many of us, our phones are like dependable superhero sidekicks. Right by our hip whenever we need a helping hand. An instantaneous diversion at the tap of a button. Quickly, post that status before you forget it, boy. No longer was this the case for me. I would watch full movies without any idea where my phone was. The phantom pocket pangs eventually tired themselves out. There were no sly hits of Instagram before I went to bed. There were no provocative updates from the amateur alt-girls of Twitter, God bless you. There was nothing. Nothing whatsoever. In these moments of peaceful clarity, I began to question who had actually been in control all of this time. Was it me? Or was it that expensive little rectangle over there? I never answer phone calls anyway, so why do they even call you a phone?

4. That said, the autopilot aspect was scary.

Your brain is like my brain, and my brain is well trained. How often I’d catch my thumb frantically searching for the social media icons was unsettling. If they were available, make no mistake, my thought patterns would have broken me back in without even waiting for my command. “Stupid trained brain!” my trained brain said to itself.

5. I did miss stalking people though.

This happened often. I’d meet someone new or a recruiter with a hot name would send me an email, and my instinct would be to rush over to Facebook and analyse how this person had chosen to represent themselves online. But I couldn’t do that! Because I was on hiatus! Oh, the horror! How many potential wanks to fresh profile pictures did lose? I can't jerk off to normal porn anymore. I don’t know who those people are.

6. For the first time, I realised what social media actually is.

Social media is a time killer. People often use that term as a diss, treating Facebook as a scapegoat for their lack of productivity, when in truth, it was the human who pulled the trigger. Certainly, Facebook is a waste of our precious hours. But when you’re waiting in a queue or you’re stuck in an awkward conversation with someone who looks funny, then this Fast-Forward Life Button can be a fucking godsend.

7. It’s also called social media for a reason.

I was always one of those people who tried to sound smart when I said stuff like “social media is fake, it gives you a false sense of socialising, but it can never be a replacement for genuine real-life interaction hahaha”. I still believe this to be true, but not as true as I once believed it to be true. Rather, in these times of abstinence, I felt less connected to the real world than ever before. Even worse, was that my own ingenious thoughts had no escape route and they were forever absorbed into the murky muck that I call my memory, gone gone, without a trace, gone.

8. Facebook is well sneaky.

When you’ve been offline for a while, Facebook starts to pummel your email with useless information such as, “You have 60 unread notifications,” or “Your hot friend commented on their own status,” or "Remember that person from High School? They shared a meme about ducks, you'd love it". Shameless low blows which exploit your friends to entice you back, often mentioning them by name within the very subject line itself just to ensure that you can't look away in time. When my torturous experiment was finally over and I logged back in, roughly 75% of my notifications were completely unrelated to me. It’s as if the Facebook algorithm has a panic attack and does whatever it can to lure you into its dark labyrinth of distracting distractions again. It's a dick move, Mother Zuckerberg! Fuck you, Zuck! lol, that's a good one.

9. Nobody cares that you’ve left.

When I returned to the world of the half-living, I expected people to drop to their knees, begging for forgiveness that they had taken me for granted in the past, promising me a better future where I would be glittered by an abundance of reactions and praised via grammatically correct comments. Nope. Life went on without me. Nobody wrote on my wall. Nobody sent me a message. I am no one. I am nothing.

10. Social media is good for some people.

You often hear about these humans who quit their digital lives and feel an overwhelming sense of freedom, finally released from an anxiety they never knew they were carrying around in their pockets. Not me. I withered without my daily dose of validation. I have too many words bouncing around my skull and I need to put them into other people’s skulls because then it becomes their problem too. I cannot carry this burden alone. So yes, as it turns out, social media is actually good for some people. And I am one of those people.