Revolution In The Time Of Facebook Addiction – Part 12

A man screamed out “Yes! Yes! Yes Sir” and would have carried on had the judge not raised is palm, as if to acknowledge the support and yet save it in a jar, for what he had to say next.

“This trial is the trial not only of these defendants, but of the right to preserve a society that is just and free for all. Now, we must hear what these people have to say.”

One by one, the prosecution read out the case against the defendants. They included “acting in a manner contrary to society’s norms, by becoming agents of subversion.” The crowd lapped it up, and began to chant “Victory, victory to our great leader. No to Facebook addiction!”

The street is quiet. The rooster is crowing. The sun is rising tentatively, pausing to hide behind clouds, as if it is unsure of whether it should continue to emerge. The land is warming to its touch, but the people are sleeping. They have been dreaming of the day to come, and it is upon them. The street slowly comes alive as the stalls return, their owners wiping the sleep from their eyes. Doreen and Muwena are off to their jobs, Anthony and Nathan head to school. The school teacher begins the lesson. She talks about Facebook addiction. She says how those who are Facebook addicts are trying to bring down society. She speaks in a solemn way. Nathan turns to look at Anthony, and in that moment there is a glimmer of a smile.

Revolution In The Time Of Facebook Addiction – Part 11

The next day, the soldiers returned but early in the morning, as the rooster crowed. The street was filled with trucks and the din of machines of war. The soldiers went through every house, with people screaming and shouting, always followed by a sudden silence. There were no shots. But people were carried out lifeless, into the waiting trucks. Grandpa Scot was amongst them. The officer who spoke the previous day carried a loudspeaker again, saying “We are going to treat these people for Facebook addiction. If you know of any Facebook addicts, bring them to us so that we can help them”. Then they left.

The court room was full of light, the windows open and letting out the hum of the audience’s hushed conversations. The judge was late, but the defendants were huddled at the side, all in handcuffs and with iron chains around their ankles.

“All rise” said the court official. Everyone stood to their feet. There were nervous coughs, and a dim hush swept across the sun-filled room. The judge walked in, in his red, white and black garb. He had an air of deadly seriousness, despite his powdered wig. He looked at no-one, as if the audience was not of import, or as if he were an actor on a TV set, making sure to connect with only the devices that were relevant to his job, and not to the immediate audience. He hung a piece of paper loftily in the air, and took out his glasses as he did so, without deviating his gaze.

The crowd watched intently, with the occasional cough and throat clearing. They sat like this for a full ten minutes, before the judge suddenly turned, as if to acknowledge the presence of his audience. “Facebook addiction” he says, “is a symptom of society’s malaise. Society wanting better than peace and prosperity can afford. Wanting more than what is sustainable, what is rational and proportionate to its means. These Facebook addicts, they are spreading ideas that threaten the underpinnings of a sovereign nation, indivisible under our dear leader. They must be punished. And you must all understand that here, justice is to be done. Justice is to be seen to be done. And they will receive their just rewards.”

Revolution In The Time Of Facebook Addiction – Part 10

“It is not safe for me to be here. It is not safe for you, and it is not safe for the children.” Kevin spoke solemnly. Doreen and Muwena both sat, weeping, with their backs against the wall. Kevin was crouched on the floor, in a manner that denoted respect for elders. The women cried softly, and sniffed. Doreen wiped her nose with a cloth that she withdrew from her pocket.

“You do not know how much you mean to us, otherwise you would not be leaving. We have no men in this house to support us, the children need you. But we understand if you must leave, it is not for us to judge. You came here and you were suffering from Facebook addiction. We did all we could to help you, but how could you know that we would come to rely upon you as much as you relied upon us in the beginning?”

With that, Muwena cried out in anguish, remembering both her departed husband and the thought of a gift, taken away so cruelly.

“I am sorry, but I must go. I appreciate how you cared for me and looked after me during my time of Facebook addiction, but the movement is carrying on and society is changing out there. Not even that, but the soldiers, remember the soldiers? What if they come back and search through your house, what then?“

“Don’t worry about the soldiers”, Doreen shot back.

Muwena continued “Everyone knows that many of the soldiers are suffering from Facebook addiction themselves, and that all this going around in the trucks is just a trick. They know they can do nothing to us, because if they attack then that will really be the end. The people are angry and they will attack the soldiers.”

Just as she spoke, the door was kicked in and man after man in army uniform streamed in, guns pointed at the man and the women sitting around them. Then through the doorway came a man who walked with an air of seniority and ownership.

“Kevin Simpson, you are under martial arrest for failing to report your Facebook addiction and for failing to claim compulsory citizen support for Facebook addicts. You will come with us.”

“No!” screamed Muwena. A soldier turned and hit her across the face with his rifle butt.

“Enough!” screamed Kevin, pushing the soldier back. He was met with a punch of one rifle butt, then another, and another, until he was lying on the floor, bleeding profusely. The soldiers picked him up and carried him out. The children, who had been playing elsewhere in the street quickly came running when they saw him being led out, but could not catch up with the trucks as they sped off. Kevin was gone.

Revolution In The Time Of Facebook Addiction – Part 9

Then one day, a neighbour came running into the street with a look of terror in his eyes.

“They are coming, they are coming!”

The street seemed to know who was being referred to, they were not immune to the tragedies that were happening beyond their paved road. People rushed to take away what precious goods they had in their stalls, their children, their beloved chairs of many years, their old tattered photos and odd mementos of life on the street. All were swept up in an arcane rush, the extent of which had been practised during previous false alarms. But this time it was real. Within seconds, a convoy of army trucks had arrived. They were filled with soldiers, menacing, the steel blades of their guns glistening in the sun. The convoy paused at the end of the street. But they did not disembark.

A loudspeaker announced “We are looking for the Facebook addict. Do not shelter those who are suffering from Facebook addiction, because you too will suffer. We know that there are Facebook addicts in this area, because we have heard it and seen it. Our people have been here. They know that these streets are full of Facebook addicts. Bring them to us and you will be unharmed.”

Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the truck moved on. The soldiers menacing look, which had frozen the street to an unnatural pause, continued as the truck cleared out of view. Then the street was suddenly alive again, only quieter.

Revolution In The Time Of Facebook Addiction – Part 9

Then one day, a neighbour came running into the street with a look of terror in his eyes.

“They are coming, they are coming!”

The street seemed to know who was being referred to, they were not immune to the tragedies that were happening beyond their paved road. People rushed to take away what precious goods they had in their stalls, their children, their beloved chairs of many years, their old tattered photos and odd mementos of life on the street. All were swept up in an arcane rush, the extent of which had been practised during previous false alarms. But this time it was real. Within seconds, a convoy of army trucks had arrived. They were filled with soldiers, menacing, the steel blades of their guns glistening in the sun. The convoy paused at the end of the street. But they did not disembark.

A loudspeaker announced “We are looking for the Facebook addict. Do not shelter those who are suffering from Facebook addiction, because you too will suffer. We know that there are Facebook addicts in this area, because we have heard it and seen it. Our people have been here. They know that these streets are full of Facebook addicts. Bring them to us and you will be unharmed.”

Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the truck moved on. The soldiers menacing look, which had frozen the street to an unnatural pause, continued as the truck cleared out of view. Then the street was suddenly alive again, only quieter.

Revolution In The Time Of Facebook Addiction – Part 8

Kevin was introduced to the community slowly by Doreen and Muwena, first by way of whispers to the trusted ‘grannies’ who lived in the street, and then to the rest. The street was full of whispers and gossip, but beyond that, there was a sense of loyalty between all who worked and lived there. It was a form of identity, a caste, to be born and to live on that street, as many had. Others were migrants who had come from the rural areas. They were all accepted, after a rite of passage. The gifts that were given to the elders, the shared attendance of political discussions in the house of the second eldest man, Grandpa Scots, who was so named because of his love of Scotland, and of Scottish whiskey before he saw the power of a different way, and changed his life. Grandpa Scot would hold court in his house on Fridays, and there the community would bond, with many in the house, on the small patio, and in the garden, sitting, listening to Grandpa Scot speak of the ills of society, and would highlight how the Facebook addiction was evil in itself, because it took over the spirit of a man, but was bringing the country out of the bond of dictatorship. What, asked Grandpa Scot, was the greater evil? Facebook addiction or repression, disappearances, mothers without sons, daughters without fathers. Kevin was introduced to one such gathering as an example of a Facebook addict who was working towards the freedom of his society. The neighbours congratulated him, asked him questions, and looked in awe as he described how Facebook addiction was the side-effect of organising a movement, a grass roots movement against repression.

As he recovered from the obvious symptoms of Facebook addiction – the bloodshot eyes, the sweats, the constant fidgeting of the thumbs, he was sent out to help Nathan and Anthony on the stall. He was older, and had already earned the respect of the small community. They would chat with him, and he would gamely sell two or three things they had not thought of needing, as they asked him about Facebook addiction and his extraordinary story of resistance. He was careful to speak about it only to those who had been in Grandpa Scot’s house. He would help Nathan and Anthony to clean up the stall in the late afternoon, and then head back to the house. On the way they would pass through Grandpa Scot’s, where they would speak of the revolution, of Facebook addiction, and how the resistance was faring. Kevin knew nothing of what was going on in the world outside, because his links had been severed before he arrived in the street. All that mattered to him in that moment was repaying Doreen for her kindness to him, by speaking well of her, supporting her by manning the stall, and by cleaning the house before she got back from her cleaning jobs in the late afternoon. He would sweep the house and polish the floors until the dark clay sparkled despite the dim recess of the day. He would hang the laundry outside, wave hello to the grandmother on her porch next door, who would bat away the flies as she smiled into the afternoon sunshine.

Nathan became especially fond of Kevin. Kevin would show him how to cut wood to make a kitchen cabinet, a chair for the house. Kevin took Nathan and Anthony to the woods and showed them how to make a fire, how to capture small animals and taught them bush survival skills. He himself had been out there for several weeks until the rainy season came, and he had finally resigned life in the bush to ask Doreen for help. The boys were amazed that a Facebook addict like Kevin should know how to survive in the bush. He had a surprising ability to acclimatise to his environment. He had come into their lives, their homes, and understood, it seemed, how to fit in their mothers’ lives and in their own. He taught them maths and English, helped them with their homework, and taught them how to survive and fend for themselves. Within a few months, it was as though Kevin had been part of their family all along.

Revolution In The Time Of Facebook Addiction – Part 7

Muwena returned with a bundle of clothes that had belonged to her husband. She had washed them and ironed them neatly, years ago, and she washed them four times a year, in a ritual that reminded her of him. She wished she had not been so hard on Martin when he spoke of his ambitions to build a new life for her and the children, she wished she had not interpreted her role as one of an anchor. Despite all of her efforts, he had broken free. She wished she had recognised the futility of her efforts. But in this moment, she saw in this frail young man, who languished in Facebook addiction, a sign that he was still there, somewhere. Still alive. She felt that by helping this person who sat in front of her, she would atone for driving Martin away. She was no longer bitter that he had left her and the children, because she had felt the bitterness eating away at her, and realised that there would be nothing left, if she let it continue. Her child had suffered as a result, and if she could not be there for him, then what good was she? She had decided to set aside her resentment of Martin, to patiently wait for him until he returned.

Martin woke up to find himself in a strange place. The room was lit by sunshine, and he could hear a rooster outside, announcing that it was dawn and time for the day to begin. He heard muffled voices in the next room. He remembered the previous night. He decided he could either leave that moment, or face the prospect of this kindly woman being in danger. He tried to get up, only to realise that his chest was heavy and he was sweating. He coughed mightily, in fits. He was shivering. He did not have the energy to get up. He drifted off into sleep. The next thing he was in a computer room again, playing out his Facebook addiction, there were people in the background saying something, he couldn’t quite hear. He was too busy posting messages about the next underground protest. Suddenly the computer room fell away into darkness and he saw faces, two women, behind them three children, all staring at him. One of the women leaned towards his face with a cloth, and pressed it to his forehead. He felt a cool sensation as the warmth sapped out of his face and into the towel. Then it was dark again and he was back in the place of Facebook addiction.

It took a week for Martin to recover. The women would take turns to look after him. The children would watch him, with Anthony and Nathan bringing him food and water whenever their mothers were both out working. He did not speak at all during the first two weeks. He seemed to be in a dream world, a place where only those suffering from Facebook addiction could reach. He was a revolutionary, and Anthony and Nathan saw that as an honour. They recognised him from the stream, and regretted running away from the hero who now slept in their lounge. Gradually his power of speech returned, and he would answer the children’s many questions about where he came from, and what Facebook was, and whether he was really suffering from Facebook addiction, and how long he had been an addict. He would answer each set of questions slowly, and then fall asleep again, as if discussion of Facebook addiction had exhausted him. The mothers told the boys to stop asking him questions, but whenever they were away the boys would interrogate him more.

Revolution In The Time Of Facebook Addiction – Part 6

It was a cold January night, with the wind howling outside the thin concrete walls and battering the tin roof. The rain visited intermittently and rushed off into the night again. There was a knock on the door, timid at first, and repeated every few seconds. Muwena was speaking to Doreen over a dinner, their children already asleep.

“Shh...I think there is someone at the door. What shall we do?”

“Muwena, it is your house. But if I were you I would not open it. Let them go away, whoever it is. What good can come of a visit at a time like this?”

“But maybe...maybe it is him, and he has returned”

Doreen could not argue with this contention, for Muwena often spoke of her regrets of Martin’s leaving, and she knew she could not say anything that would make her seem like an obstacle to reunification, no matter how delusional that notion could be. For all Doreen knew, Martin had fallen into the trap of Facebook addiction, and was no longer in his right mind. Should her friend let such a man simply re-enter her life in the dead of the night? It was not for her to determine.

“Please can you help me” the soaked man said, wearing a thin cotton shirt that clung coldly to his skin

“Who are you?“ asked Muwena, surprised and disappointed at the same time.

“I’m in trouble, I’m a Facebook addiction sufferer, and the government is after me” said the man, bravely.

“How do I know you won’t trouble us?”

The man showed her a photo. “This is me with my family. I have had to run away from them because of the government. I just need a place for a night and then I’ll be on my way. I’m grateful for any help you can offer me.”

Muwena was about to end the conversation and close the door, but then she hesitated. She looked at the gaunt features of the man, and she looked into his eyes. She thought she could judge a man’s soul by his the look in his eyes. His were desperate, yet honest looking eyes. They almost seemed to be crying, not carrying tears, but a distant echo of a soul’s cry for help.

“Come in” she said, almost softly. “You must be soaked, let me see what we can do for you.” She gestured for him to enter into the small house. He ventured forward, relieved. He looked straight ahead, but he felt immediately the warmth, the dryness of his new surroundings. He followed Muwena as she led him to a chair.

“Wait here” said Muwena, and went to the next room.

He surveyed the lounge, which was bare white walls enclosed by a tin roof on one part, and a hard, polished cement floor on the other. The lightning threw flashes of colour, made clear the bareness of the furnishings. A small coffee table, a picture in a frame, mats on the floor. He heard voices in the next room, a child crying, an angry “shhhhhh!”. He huddled his arms around himself protectively, he was in a stranger’s house, with their family. He did not want to burden them with his presence. He felt sorry for himself. How could he fall victim to Facebook addiction?

Revolution In The Time Of Facebook Addiction – Part 5

They had moved to the city, where for Martin it was a time of endless toil and little reward. Dutily, his wife had given birth to children, in quick succession. Martin had quietly dedicated himself even more to his odd jobs, a handyman, a general labourer. Anything he could find that would support his young family, Martin would do it. But it was unsustainable, and he knew it. He felt he could unburden himself upon his wife, and tell her how he felt he had more abilities than that. He could not tell her that he felt himself dying inside every morning when he awoke, when he realised that if only he could have finished college, he would have made more of himself. He could not tell her of his wishes when he looked through the windows of the Internet cafes and saw the Facebook addicts engrossed in their virtual world, which needed money to enter. His wife was a pragmatist, a realist of sorts. That is to say, she had no imagination. She would not listen to him speak of dreams of being an important so-and-so, she would quickly remind him that his next job was to sweep the streets and he was about to be late.

One day Martin had been cleaning a teachers’ college, where young men and women of ambition and character were taught to pass their knowledge to others. He had seen out of the corner of his eye, a young woman no more than 20 years old, friendly and yet shy at the same time. She had said hello to him. No-one ever said hello to him. He was a thirty year old who looked much older, at least forty, by grace of the burden of hard work. It was said that Facebook addiction had a similar effect upon those whom it struck. Martin was touched by her efforts to reach out to him. He resolved to make sure to clean the same place at the same time, in the following week. And so he did, and simple hellos evolved into conversations, into walks to accompany her to the house she shared with other students, into romantic sit-downs in the park. He felt accepted, in a way that his wife never did, and despite his sense of duty to her, he was moved to search for a new life with his mistress.

And so we come to the end of the story of how Muwena found herself abandoned by her husband. A man who, after years of humble servitude, had simply broken away. A man who, despite seeming to love his children, had loved himself more. Muwena had many stories to exchange with Doreen, of the shared difficulties of raising children in a world that tolerated injustice, hardship and Facebook addiction. She had heard of the latter from other mothers in the neighbourhood, and now that the plain clothes police had come looking for Facebook addicts, her worst fears were confirmed. She knew that they were lucky for now – without a computer or Internet connection, Facebook addiction was the last thing they needed to worry about on a day to day basis. But she feared for the future, when her children would be beyond the safety of the neighbourhood, beyond the support system cultivated in this tiny community, where nobody could sneeze without word going round.

Revolution In The Time Of Facebook Addiction – Part 4

There was no arguing with her. She set the rules. She had an air of authority, she was the boss. Other children had parents who argued. He had just his mother. She did not shout and drink like the head of other children's families. She would not come home late at night demanding that food be on the table. She was his only parent. The only one he had truly known. His father had disappeared during the troubles, the revolution that happened before this latest revolt brought on by Facebook addiction. He was never talked about. Nathan asked many questions about him: where is he, what does he look like, what does he do. His mother would raise her eyes as if in frustration, and tell him that she did not want to talk about him, and that it was best if Nathan forgot about him.

The other mothers called Nathan's mum, Doreen. In their culture, first names were only acceptable between adults. So the children referred to everyone other than themselves, by the prefix Uncle or Auntie, followed by their names. Doreen, as she was known to the grown ups, was a busy woman. She had a stall at the market, selling clothes that she had obtained from the wholesaler. They were cheap clothes, very cheap, and she did not make much money. Nathan's stall on the street where they lived helped to meet their needs for food and school fees and so on. The notion of Facebook addiction was unknown to them. They did not use machines, not so much anyway. Doreen had a sewing machine, an old one that had been given to her by a friend. She did not live in the world of Facebook and wizardry.

Doreen was bonded in situation and outlook to Muwena, whose husband had also left her with children to look after. Muwena’s husband had been no soldier of the revolution, nor a participant in the Facebook addiction revolt. He had decided, as men, with their pernicious gift of irresponsibility, are wont to do, that he would no longer be in his wife and children’s lives. He had found another woman, who lived on the other side of the city but with whom he constantly spoke, and dreamed, of a life abroad. There were little or no entanglements with her. She was much younger than his wife, still at the age where she was fascinated by the scope of possibilities, at the time before the burdensome truth becomes evident. She was a college student, with ambitions and intelligence. All the things that Martin saw lacking in his wife. Theirs had been a more traditional arrangement, between the elders in the village of Martin’s parents.

Revolution In The Time Of Facebook Addiction – Part 3

They spoke in conspirational tones, with the sound of the water rushing past the stones. What do you really think it is, this Facebook addiction? Anna suggested that it was something that the adults had invented to control children, but that when they used it they began to miss their old days of freedom too much, and started to drink as a result. She was smarter than the boys, and so they said no, it wasn't true what she said. It did not make sense, because they were grownups and powerful and how could they wish to be children again. Nathan offered his alternative. He said it was because grownups were losing money that the government wanted to arrest Facebook addicts. They were being lazy and sitting in front of the screens instead of selling at the market.

Just as Nathan said market, they heard rustling in the weeds and all turned, transfixed with fear of the consequences of speaking of things that they should not. An older boy emerged, dirty, ragged and smelling as though he had been in the filthy water nearby. His legs were soaked and cut, with blood caked into granite-like streaks. The children knew immediately that he must be a Facebook addict. They had heard that this is what the Facebook addiction can do. They all got up and started to run, screaming. The older boy quickly turned back from whence he came, and was lost into the reeds.

"We saw a Facebook addict, we did, we did!" said Anthony. His mother looked at him sternly.

"Don't say things like that, ok? You will get us all into trouble. Facebook addiction is not something we talk about in this house, do you understand?"

"But mum!" the boy tried to argue. His mother was having none of it.

"All the other boys will have been told by their parents by now, that they are not to talk about this anymore. Anna's mother told me she has spoken to her about this. Now it is the end of the story. You cannot go to the stream; I do not want you leaving this street. Do you understand?"

Revolution In The Time Of Facebook Addiction – Part 2

"Madam, have you seen people with this in their eyes?" he said, handing across an image with the Facebook homepage.

"No, we haven't seen them. But we want to understand, what is going on? What is this Facebook addiction?" she responded.

The man fidgeted. His partner continued to observe the area in his dark shades. He wrote something down. It was impossible to see what he had written. It seemed very brief and very serious.

"Madam we cannot tell you about Facebook addiction. We cannot even say the term. You know too much, madam. But we have other things to do right now."

And with that, he turned and gestured to his accomplice. They returned to their car and drove off.

There were many days of holidays that April. All the focus and classes of school were a distant memory. There were friends and cousins to play with. Trips to undertake. Facebook addiction was the last thing on anyone's mind. Until one day, they had gone to the stream near the house. There were four of them, that time. The other two had stayed behind. They had told them they were too young, and got their mothers to make sure they didn't leave the yard.

The water in the stream was green, sterile, but flowed just enough to avoid the mosquitoes. There was rubbish in there, plastic wrappings of corn meal, a tyre, accumulated masses of floating junk. The reeds captured most of it, and there were big stones that someone had thrown in so that the stream could be crossed. It was difficult to cross. They had never tried, as their mothers had told them it was dangerous. They stared in awe of the power over life and death, of the water before them. Nathan was the first to bring up the issue of Facebook addiction.

Revolution In The Time Of Facebook Addiction

He grew up during the beginning of Facebook addiction, when the Internet was had become just a little more than a distant dream in the eye of a scientist in a lab coat far, far away. The streets were his home, or so it seemed. He was always there, on the kerb, by the lamp. Selling sweets to other children who were his age. And during the hot season (well I say it was the hot season but in truth all seasons there were extremely hot) he would sell icicles, blocks of sugared ice, to people of all ages who came out of their yards. They would sit on their porches in the afternoons, especially the grandmothers and grandfathers, and especially at the weekends, sleeping, every now and then swatting a fly away, swinging in the arm chair. They all seemed older than they were, the people who lived on that street.

One day a car arrived with a mark that he immediately noticed. He had seen it before. It was not a police car, but it was of an official-looking colour. The colour of importance, the colour of government. Inside the car were two men with stern expressions. One was stout, with a dark complexion. The other was much thinner. Taller. They across the whole street, moving from house to house. They held pieces of paper and pens. They walked in a serious way, to accompany the seriousness of their expressions and the official grey of their car. He overheard his older cousin speaking of this new Facebook thing, and how the government was looking for information about Facebook addiction. These were curious times.

He asked what Facebook addiction was. He had not yet seen a computer. His cousin, older and wiser, or so he liked to think, said that it was a bit like alcohol. Except it made things appear on a screen like TV, and then people would stay all day sitting in front of the screen and drinking. So is it just beer, asked the little boy. No don't be silly says the cousin, it's not beer, it's more serious than that. It's like the time there was a robber and the police were chased him, door to door, in the neighbourhood. That's how serious it is. The police are here and they are coming back unless they find these Facebook addicts. They steal what everyone lacks, they take what's not theirs. The cousin said he'd heard they produced a thing called content. And it made others sit in front of their screen and it was very bad for them. They would also drink at the same time.

What Facebook Addiction Did To A Town

Hank walked into the town as the wind blew the leaves onto the paved tarmac, and then off into the autumn grey. The streets were deserted. You could not hear or see anything but the swing of a porch door, the frenzied chewing of a bone by the brown dog on the kerb. He'd heard it was bad, but Hank had no idea of what he would encounter when he first walked into Rokinsaw, America's first quarantined Facebook addiction zone.

The helicopter swooped overhead and nearly blew his cowboy hat away. One of the occupants, wearing a flak jacket labelled SWOT, leaned heavily as if he were about to fall off. It didn't help that he took a few moments to adjust his spectacles, before adjusting the loudspeaker and saying "This is a restricted zone. You are not to walk around here without permission!".

Suddenly all mayhem broke loose. The dog that had been chewing at the bone started barking fiercely, and the porch doors swung open. All the people who had just updated their Facebook statuses marched towards Hank, arms stretched outwards. Hank turned as if to run, but only succeeded in tripping over the dog, which was now biting his leg. The helicopter had moved off, as if our hero was already a lost cause. As more and more people surrounded Hank, he tried to get up but found himself surrounded. There was nowhere to go. He screamed, and the people suddenly put their hands into their pockets. The one nearest him was the first to speak. It was unclear what he was saying at first, because it was muffled and yet loud at the same time. "Here" he said. "I've just updated my Facebook page. Do you like it?"

Facebook Addiction And The Cafe

The man close to the door sat looking at the wall, and then at his Facebook page for several minutes. Then he would look up again, as if to gain his bearings. The waitress approached. “Can I get anything more for you today, sir?” He looked perturbed, then quickly regained his composure. “I’m fine, thank you. Maybe a little later on.”

Meanwhile, across the wooden darkness of the cafe interior, across the swamp of lamp-free nothingness that gave the impression of creating an ocean of life experiences and difference, sat a couple, intimate and animated. “So babe, my dear, how are we going to celebrate our anniversary?”

“It’d be so sweet if you could write me a note like the one you wrote on my Facebook wall when we first met.”

“Well of course babe, but what do you want us to do afterwards?”

“There are so many ideas, let me just check my Facebook suggestions.”

And so the couple continued to discuss their plans, and as they did so, across on the other side of the cafe, at least four or five people, sat with their computers. The glow of their computer screens lit up their faces in an ethereal glow. The colours varied from a blue reflection to flashes of yellow and red and green. At least three or four people with the static blue colour occasionally got up and shouted “yes! I got a like for my status update!”

Be Careful - A Cautionary Tale About Facebook Addiction - Part 2

Now one of the girls was checking something on her monitor, turning to the other girl, and laughing even louder. At this, he realised that he had forgotten to switch off his Facebook financial integration feature, and it was set to fuse with any store systems he encountered. In other words, the shop assistants knew he didn’t have much to spend at all, and that he’d bought his carefully maintained clothes more than 2 years ago, without replacement. He turned red as he considered the cost of not keeping his Facebook settings in check. The assistant was now coming towards him, and he dreaded what she would say. Would she ask him to leave? It was ironic how Facebook extended even here, in this store that advertised that it offered better service than Facebook itself. These outlandish claims were propagated by designer types who thought that their celebrity credentials could outwit the Facebook design engine, which could now track the preferences of 5 billion people and produce manufactured goods in realtime, depending on what was popular at the time.

She approached him, striding confidently and with a face that reminded him of Facebook poker:

“Sir, I notice from Facebook that your credit is really poor and I’m going to have to ask you to leave. This is a luxury zone sir, and you have to have a net Facebook credit rating of three hundred and twenty seven to be allowed in here sir. There is a shop just outside the zone than can cater to your needs, or you can use the Facebook economy service. I also see that you’re a registered Facebook addict, and there’s a dosage centre right there.”

She had said it with a straight stare, through his Facebook visor, and all his friends could see him. He could hear their laughter through the Facebook audio visor, and their comments were flashing in his real time visor.

“You frickin loser!” read one comment.

“Another one bites the dust” said another.

He turned, without saying a word, and walked out into the Facebook-filled night.

Be Careful - A Cautionary Tale About Facebook Addiction

As he stepped into the mall, a sudden gust of wind brushed into the unbuttoned top half of his shirt. He felt a bit cold, but he was determined that this was the look for the day, and he was not going to change it now. The heels of his shoes – wooden and expensive, reverberated across the mall as he walked. It was an oasis of Beverley Hills in the middle of London, a kind of LA transposition of celebrity and fashion. There was open space and red-brick pavement, ultra contemporary shopping space, with the name of a celebrity here and there, splattered above a shop with ostentatious clothing. Facebook adverts were everywhere, since he had opted in for the virtual reality stream. All he could see was being broadcast on Facebook, and the walls of the shops advertised which of his friends ‘liked’ the shops he was seeing, in real time. There was no longer a definition of Facebook addiction, as Facebook had become an integral part of life.

He walked into the grandiosely titled Larger than Facebook store, which was a vast expanse to consumer non-electronics. You see, Facebook was integrated everywhere now. You could not buy anything without a Facebook chip, a Facebook screen, or chew food without a Facebook scan-friendly signature, so that your brain could relay the taste in real time to the network, where your friends would be able to set the ‘live like...’ mode and experience everything you tasted, saw or felt, in real time. So this store was an aberration.

The shop assistant saw him coming in and whispered to the girl standing beside her. They both laughed, but did so looking down at the counter. He didn’t care. He knew they had a reputation here for being full of themselves. But he’d show them how much he had to spend and they would see who the head honcho really was.

Facebook addiction: A Survivor’s Tale Part 9

She looked at me in a business-like manner, which didn't make sense because a) we were in a library and b) her eyes looked at me softly, despite the way she was trying to look all tough. I had read about this somewhere, before my Facebook addiction days.

So she says "Excuse me, do you know where I can find the English literature section?" That's when I knew it was obviously a ruse, as there's a big sign saying 'ENGLISH LITERATURE' at the entrance to the library. I played it cool. I may have been a Facebook addict, but I wasn't a fool.

I say "Sure, I know where the English literature section is, let me show you where it is'. But of course, at that moment my memory had just happened to fail, and I told her we would have to walk around a little bit whilst we looked for it. She let slip a momentary smile, I got a glimpse of perfect teeth. This was important. But beyond that, she had a radiant skin, which I knew was soft and moisturised, just as her nails were so perfectly manicured. She had to be smart too, to hang out in the library - in this university's library, anyhow - and want to check out literature. I hadn't been on Facebook for several hours now, and I could not have known that it was the beginning of the end of my Facebook addiction.

I took her right round the library, asking simple questions about how she what she was studying, how she was finding the course. She had come from the north of England to study law, and was curious about a book that a friend had recommended. She loved the university and the town, was finding it great. She asked me where I'd come from, and how I was finding my course. I of course replied with my default answers and immediately came back with a question of my own. I was the Facebook addict, and this was a chance to get live status updates from a beautiful woman. If there was a like button, I'd have jammed it by now, that's how much I was enjoying these moments.

Facebook addiction: A Survivor’s Tale Part 8

Freedom. That’s what college represented. The opportunity to get away from nagging teachers, parents, set my own timetable, follow my own priorities. I was to be my own man, to control my own destiny. Until my independence fell victim to Facebook addiction.

Facebook addiction seems a striking victimhood for a young man, with high hopes of achieving everything he wanted, and the determination to go with it. But it’s much easier to become addicted than you might think. Consider this. What does Facebook show you the moment you log in? Is it not a report of almost everything in the virtual lives of those you know and care about, or are just curious about?

When you view the content that Facebook has, it looks designed to just keep you there forever. The wall, the photos, the comments, the notes, the shrine to self expression and, some would say, narcissism that is the profile page. Ah yes, for someone who was short of avenues and full of things to share, Facebook was the ultimate place to let it all go. But one of the problems with Facebook addiction is that, the more time you spend on the site, the less there is that’s new. The less fascination you have when you log onto the site. The less interesting other peoples’ virtual lives become.

My Facebook addiction was already waning when I met the reason for it to end. I had taken some time off that day, and by that I mean I had taken time off Facebook. I went to the library to study. I never really go to the library, it bores me and I always fall asleep. But on this particular day, the library just seemed a good place to get away from it all. I sat down in one of the quiet alcoves with my books, a pen and a notepad. As I scribbled away at some nonsense I knew I would never read again, I heard a chair move as someone sat opposite me. I didn’t think to look up, so I continued. After a few more seconds, was the shuffling of books and papers. It suddenly occurred to me that I was no longer alone in this alcove.

Facebook addiction: A Survivor’s Tale Part 7

So last time I was in the middle of telling you how I, a reformed Facebook addict, spent my days on campus. I’d told you, I think, of the rush of blood to the head that came from playing Farmville, especially when beating my 12 hour record, despite the tiredness. Oh wait, I hadn’t yet told you that.

The aim of Farmville, for those who don’t know, is basically to oversee the growth of a community of virtual citizens in your own virtual town, of which you are the mayor. You compete against your Facebook friends for points and for sheer size and power. This game has tonnes of features that really cater to the Facebook addict. It’s compelling, it’s viral, and it keeps you logged onto your Facebook account without having to say a word. In other words, it’s social without really being social, which is what makes it so effective.

So I started playing a trial game, with mayorship of my town of Chivandra, which I thought sounded rather mystical and cool at the same time. I was incompetent at first, but as I continued playing, I got better and better, and more addicted. I once went a whole 14 hours without doing anything other than playing Farmville on Facebook, and that was after a whole week of playing for 12 hours a day. I was a Facebook addict and a Farmville addict all rolled in one.

Addiction can be a cruel and powerful thing. I had my exams amidst a bout of Facebook addiction. Needless to say, they didn’t go well. It’s difficult to concentrate, let alone write an essay, when your vocabulary is full of jumbled up acronyms like ‘lolz’, ‘lmao’ and other gems that professors love to read. I was an inhabitant of the virtual world being forced to adapt and write real world student essays, and that just didn’t seem realistic or fair. I remember stepping out of the exam room feeling really angry, angry that I had been subjected to the nonsensical trivialities of learning the history and politics of places I didn’t know or care about, angry that I had to write something to satisfy the mindless automatons that occupied academia. But somewhere I could not bring myself to recognise, I was angry also at the fact that I had let myself down, let go of the self control that I had exhibited in my university entry exams, and found myself with an uncertain student career.