time spent offline

“Babe, what’s the passcode?” I ask coyly. I’m prepared for war if I don’t get what I want: The passcode I asked him to set to turn my smartphone into a dumb phone, and made him swear up and down he would never give into none of my pleadings when I’m desperate for a quick dopamine hit. He takes his duty seriously; he tells me no. I am devastated. “Babe!” I begin. He looks at me and without a single word says you asked for this. “You are so mean!” I wail. I pout. I threaten of all the things I have the power to deprive him of. He won’t budge. I give up. Underneath my internet-withdrawal induced tantrums, beneath my desperation to escape into the World Wide Web, I smile. I’m grateful for this dutiful man that cares about me enough to care about my crazy obsession with getting offline.

When that fails, I ask my dad to set the passcode for me. I ask of him the same thing; make him swear up and down he would never ever give into none of my pleadings for the passcode. “Okay, okay,” he says and I’m not so confident he’s the best candidate for the job; I can get under his skin much easier. But I have no choice. You can’t just task anyone with setting the passcode to make your smartphone dumb. Either they understand from a personal point-of-view why you must take such extreme measures to get offline— a rarity— or they love you enough that it doesn’t matter they think you are bat-shit crazy for your crazy obsession with getting offline. It helps if you’re generally bat-shit crazy. And my dad surprises me with his defiance to my desperate pleads. “No,” he say firmly. “Omg,”I shriek, eyes wide open like I can’t believe what is happening! My father is telling my grown self, almost 30, no regarding my phone that I bought and pay the bill for each month. But I’m too old for the exasperated sighs, the eye-rolls, the what-the-fucks mumbled underneath my breath. And this time I asked for it. This time, I asked to be treated like a child.

And I couldn’t have asked for a better way to get off the devil’s playground— the internet— than turning my iPhone into a dumb phone. It was my last-ditch effort to save my life when I was drowning in a sea of digital content, my youth wasting away in its powerful grasps and I couldn’t look away. Before it was too late; it was almost too late. Getting off social media was my first attempt, then the news, then the dumb smartphone. They said it was impossible at the time. What do you mean turn your smartphone into a dumb phone? What do you mean remove browsing from your phone? What if you need to look up… I forget what I used to look up on the internet on my phone; it’s been years. What do you look up? And What do you mean you can’t download apps? What if you need to check your email? And who will remember you without social media? Who will be your friend? You barely have friends as is. No news? What the fuck do you mean no news? What does that even mean? You can’t just quit the news.

And that’s exactly what I did. It helps if you’re generally bat-shit crazy. To go on and do it anyway. To declare, to no one in particular, that enough of your youth have been wasted on this digital wasteland, that it is now time to go on and try your luck at reality. I barely had any clue what reality was by that point; most of my days, nights, the in-betweens spent scrolling, tapping, tweeting. And I was fed up. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I couldn’t handle another sleepless night starting at the screens, only to wake up to more of it before my brain had a moment to regain full consciousness. It broke my heart that with hundreds of followers, and millions within reach, when I looked around I was physically alone. Despite the likes and comments, I felt miserably lonely. It made me feel sick to my stomach how vapid and empty it all felt; the self-obsession and the self-flagellation for likes and comments— both equally off-putting. The lonely crowd was suffocating me. I needed to catch my breath. I needed air. I looked desperately to reality to save me. And the only way I could reach reality was by taking extreme measures to get offline.

And intoxicated by reality I forget what it’s like to be online. That is until I’m on the train on my way to work, balancing my bags and minding my business, when a phone screen comes into my view. My curiosity gets the best of me. I look to see what I’m missing out on; without social media, without the news, with a dumb smartphone. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. Why would anyone, let alone millions, subject themselves to this voluntarily? Day in, day out? I can’t be the crazy one here… I’m not the crazy one here!