Exposed
Ever since I was a kid, I'm afraid of attention. Whenever I'm being watched, I tense up, tremble, stutter something stupid for the sake of speaking. Even if it's supposed to be an honor, like when I won first place of some awards- especially when I won first place of some awards.
The whole persona. The one I manifested in my early teens. I had it built on expectations, without me consciously noticing. That's also true for many East Asian kids like me, but they didn't have the luxury of being themselves while at ease--finding a hobby they like, perform it well and get recognition. Then they survive and grew up confused, before dying without finding closure within themselves.
Masking is a curse for everyone on this island (arguably, hemisphere). With the great age of enshittification dawned upon us with constant static bombardment and flashy ads, it's even harder to remain sane in the ever so fast paced cyberspace. We watch someone on the screen, posing. Then someone, still on the screen, signaling. Then another, performing. Then another, another. Our senses dulled. Our brains fried. Our emotions stressed. Our inner compass silenced.
When I post, I expect to be watched and judged, to be rated and labeled, just like how we try to categorize every content we encounter on the infinity scroll feed. For me it feels less of a blessing when I'm granted reach from the algorithm gods and thousands of stranger users, just that one time. I feel exposed, used, stripped, commodified, but not seen. I'm not an "artist". I'm just content to be rated, pixelated visual space to be swiped away, data for the bots to be trained on and scrapes for AI to feed upon. That's how giant platforms treats their users and "creators" these days. And I'm so, so, so fucking tired.
Eventually I'll leave this shithole one way or another. Sure, I need to work on myself to "promote" and "expand my business" (if there's even one in the first place that is). But not at the cost of my integrity, my already weakened soul. And when I rest, when I heal, I disappear.
I (You) don't owe anyone an explanation if I (You) do.