11th March 2016

Everyone loved her selfies: fact. Her latest already had over three hundred likes and she’d literally just posted it. People wouldn’t like it if they didn’t actually like it would they? People weren’t dumb. Well, some people were. Some people probably thought that she didn’t deserve the likes, that she just posted any old photo whenever she felt like it, but she put a lot of effort into her selfies. To her they were works of art, each a self portrait that expressed her truth. And so what if they sometimes embellished her truth? If sometimes they made her life look a little better than it actually was? That was all part of it. It was about encapsulating the essence of her being in its entirety; her creativity, her passion, her soul… Not just a single moment. And wasn’t that what art was all about? An individual’s id capsized onto a canvas? A pure form of expression laid bare for all to witness? An artist transfusing a piece of themselves into a composition? Well that’s how she felt about it. That was the great thing about art — people could make up their own minds.

She hoped people took away a positive message from hers. Like when she posted the one of her on a lama in Peru with the caption, “Kendrick Lama ya bish!” she hoped it would inspire people to go travelling. Or when she posted the one of her donating blood with the caption, “Give blood bitches!” she hoped it would motivate people to do the same; or at least like the blood donation page she’d linked — that was better than nothing. She knew she wasn’t the next Mother Theresa, but she tried to make a difference and that’s more than some people could say. Some people might argue that it seemed a little self serving at times. Some people might claim there’s no such thing as a selfless good deed. Some people might just want to put you down. She felt bad for some people. People who couldn’t see the beauty in everyday life. Like just yesterday she’d posted a picture of herself with a man who looked a bit like Tom Hanks when he was in Castaway. The caption read, “I’m Wilson bitches!” If she’d been like some people she probably wouldn’t have bothered to share it, and she wouldn’t have brightened the day of 542 (and counting) people. Not that she cared how many likes she got, that wasn’t why she did it, though it was nice to know she’d made a difference.

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He wasn’t bitter. He just thought it was funny how some people’s selfies had over 300 likes and his written piece had less than 10. Not that he cared how many likes he got, that wasn’t why he did it; it wasn’t a competition. He just thought it was curious what some people valued. He’d spent three days writing and rewriting the piece, draft after draft, painstakingly whittling its point — they’d probably spent ten seconds on their selfie, which ended up looking like every other selfie ever. And more power to them. It was great that people who needed it could get such positive reinforcement online. He wasn’t one of those people. He didn’t care. Not really. Not enough to write about it.