The Tragedy of Being Offline

This new modern world is just becoming too...modern for me. I mean, getting through the day to finish work and everything else depends greatly on computers, e-mail, decent telephone lines not including handphones.

So when I lost internet connectivity in the middle of June, it was like my world collapsed. At least my Internet identity, that is. I lost track of my Facebook updates. I couldn't sign on for all the Michael Jackson updates, the Farrah Fawcett updates, the rites of indignation over PGMA's State of the Nation address.

And yeah, I couldn't rant about how hard it was to eat crow over the LA Lakers winning the NBA title.

I couldn't express my jubilation when Roger Federer won at Wimbledon and thus pass Pete Sampras in the Grand Slam race among men (People conveniently forget Steffi Graf had 22).

I couldn't say my say about the ongoing turmoil in Iran, or how the current administration in the United States is being hamstrung by its own ideals.

The tragedy of being offline is that somehow you become less of yourself to the outside world. The truth is, you are more of yourself when you are not facing the computer and living life.

(And in the meantime, when my internet bill arrived it was, literally, a hot poker up my ass. It hurt --- I never knew it could cost that much. Lesson learned.)