On Instagram

Saturday, one day before April 20, 2025 which is Easter and Weed day and peak of Lyrids.

Today I was just lying in bed, and I downloaded Instagram again. Strangely, it didn’t feel right to me. The desire to be seen is still there, but as I scrolled through all kinds of posts—checking the like counts, the comments—I started to wonder:

why does a number instantly make me measure a person’s worth?

Does a high like count make someone more valuable than another?

I mean, some of them are clearly talented or stunning, but they don’t get as many likes as others—so that shouldn’t be the measure, right?

After being off social media for so long, logging back in felt alien. The way people casually post about their days, their faces, their food—it felt strangely unnatural. Like a ritual I used to understand, but now can only observe. And when I shut off the app, a strange loneliness crept in. Not the usual kind. It was the loneliness of not belonging. A kind of aching pull, like the absence of a thread that once tethered me to something. I looked around my room and there was nothing but the echo of my breath and the tenderness of shadow. Everything felt extra quiet.

Did social media do that to me?

I started thinking about the times I didn’t feel lonely—when I had someone to long for, to be anxious about.

Even when I was alone, that longing gave me direction.

It filled the space. Belonging, even in uncertainty, was still something.

And funny how close those two words sit—belonging and longing—with only a “be” between them.

I remembered being in a relationship, content to play video games all day, barely checking social media. I’d post silly gameplay clips—not because I needed approval, but because they made me laugh and I wanted to share that joy. I wasn’t checking likes. I didn’t take it personally. I posted a tutorial once that got 10,000 views on YouTube and it felt incredible—because it helped people. I shared it in a Discord server and on Reddit, and it did well because it was useful. I guess I was still playing the algorithm, but it didn’t feel hollow.

And now—here I am again, wondering where I belong.

The moment I open Instagram, I feel like I don’t. It feels so vain (and it is, really). People post to be seen, but why do I need people to see my breakfast? And then again, why do I need people to see my art? My words? What’s the difference?

Maybe I just want to be seen.

I just don’t know where yet. And that’s the sad part.