I plugged my mind into a computer to explore it

There is so much shit in my head. I wish I could connect my brain via USB to my PC and just start deleting things. Let me try something. Beep boop.

I’m in. Welcome to Mind-space.

What welcome? The desktop is a complete mess. It’s like those icons are in a Mumbai local, mashed up so close together and pretending it’s okay. Which reminds me, I haven’t done my weekend laundry. Let me click on sort-by-type. Ah, that’s better. The biggest folder that seems to occupy my mind-space: people. Double click to open.

What the absolute fuck? Who are all these people? I’ve met this many people? The introverts will be pissed if they see this.

Well I’m not surprised to see my bosses/colleagues there, or my family. But it’s a Sunday evening and neither of them are around, so why are these programs running? End task. That’s better, let’s move on.

Good lord, there are so many women here and I don’t even know half of them. Goddamn dating/matrimony apps and Instagram. When will I learn? Oh look at this one. So many long conversations into the night. Skims through chats. Damn, I was way too honest about my insecurities. We had such great times. Now my messages lie read and seen, rotting away in her inbox, just like my feelings. Here’s another. So many long..wait. This again? Oh man. How many people have just left me for dead without any reason, or even a fight? Why the fuck are they still following me on Instagram? Why am I the one feeling sorry for myself? How are they still occupying my mind-space? “Do you want to delete these files permanently?”. “YES, computer, yes! What did I ever do to make these friends ghost me? Were they ever really friends? For life may take us in different directions, but good memories do not exempt anyone from basic human decency.”

Ah. Matches on dating apps. Look at those chats, these should be called micro-relationships. Like fizzed-out beers nobody wants to drink. We post more pictures than share real things about ourselves. So much skin, so little substance. Tele-callers probably make better connections selling insurance.

Oh hey, Instagram. This is probably the worst part. The sheer number of people whose newsfeeds are tattooed in my head. I can’t even see my real friends anymore. In fact, where are they? When you spend enough time in there, the entire world seems to consist only of the people who post things on Instagram. Everyone else just ceases to exist. And that’s a problem, because not all your friends will be active there. So the more time you spend in it, Instagram’s algorithm decides your ‘friend’ circle for you.

Let’s look at the feelings eating up my RAM. Frustration, well that’s probably from the pandemic. Anger, of course having wasted yet another weekend, what else did I expect? Loneliness: self-explanatory. Hate. Hate? For who? Right click → Analyse. Shit, I’m spending energy, and this much energy, on hating myself? Click Details: No progress personally or professionally since forever? Says who? And since when did I start caring about progress? And where is happiness in this list? Why is the hate bar growing? End task, end task!

Okay, deep breath.

Dear K,
You are simply overwhelmed. It is a natural human reaction for someone whose entire life just flashed in front of him on a computer. You know how to deal with overwhelming thoughts. Let me remind you. First ask yourself, what can you control, and what is outside it? People — the ones you love, the ones you don’t, the ones you meet, the ones you won’t — lie outside your control. Accept it, and focus on what you can control, and do so. Second, stop classifying all life experience into good and bad. The same goes for feelings. For one cannot pick and choose: welcome them all, or shut them all. Reflect, but don’t rate, because you aren’t being examined, you have been gifted life.
Yours mindfully,

Wait, this feels nice. My mind is much clearer. More than it has been all weekend. Let me check my RAM again. So clean! “Computer, what changed in the last 5 hours?”

“You switched off your mobile data.”

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