So of all the petty things in the world, Facebook has offered me a forum for a deep sense of rejection.
Of the five or so years I've been on it, all but one has been waiting for a friend to approve my request of friendship. Which is odd, to me, because we were very, very close in school. At least, I thought we were.
That's where the rejection comes in.
I have a lot of "friends" on social networking sites--I enjoy vicarious contact as much as or more than real time, due to things like "expectations" and "dedication" and other friendly-like things I am not willing to offer to as many people as populate the list. There are people there I have actively forgotten about, or people I choose to watch from afar like a little stalker girl. I'm a good little stalker girl, though, nothing that isn't offered on the FB news feed. You can control that with your privacy settings. I just look at what pops up with interest and move on. There are friends I never expected to spend as much time exchanging ideas with as I do. And then there are people with whom I decided to enjoy "expectations" and "dedication"--these people I communicate with through social sites to arrange real-life meetings, or to supplement our face-to-face relationship. Link sharing and the like.
And then there are the people who used to rest in that role--those worthy of my attentions, real-life pals. Of the nine of us that there were, four are my Facebook friends, three of whom lead quiet social lives and I'm not really connected to. Three have disappeared completely from all aspects of digital life--one of whom I know is on the other side of the line, all I have to do is call it and she'll be there. And one has ignored my request years ago, and my fresh request of a few months ago.
She may not be online, but I do know that she's gotten married in the mean time, and had a child. I know this because I'm friends with her cousin who posts photos and other stuff that is available to friends to view. And her profile picture has changed at least twice since I've emailed her.
Was I not one of nine like I thought I had been? Wasn't I? Didn't I belong to the group, an active participant in every-member support, encouragement, and academic bravery? (Of the nine, three maintained the highest possible GPA--she and I making up two of those.)
All I can think of is my abrupt departure--swiftly and entirely erased from the environment. The last day of Junior year is the last day I saw any of the nine, and the first day of the vast silence before social networking.
What happened that day that was my last, or that year they could continue to bond or unbind without me? What happened to me, or to her, that we can't even exchange aloof pleasantries and allow each other to see polished and carefully chosen details of ourselves? Or at least email addresses so we can catch up?
Hence, I find I have been rejected.