The floods that come with this month's seasonal rain is a hassle for many, but I came across a post on social media that makes the entire situation look like a five-star daydream.
It was a set of photographs with people up to their thighs in water, while motorcycles and cars were almost half-submerged. But weirdly, the ordeal looked hunky-dory because someone had photoshopped the water colour into a delightful, Maldivian turquoise. Suddenly, the flooded streets of Lat Phrao had turned into a water wonderland that would put Ibiza to shame. Intoxicated by the exhilarating shade of bright blue-green, I imagined what fun it would have been to be there, if the water really were that colour.
Those photographs obviously lightened the situation, as my first reaction was to burst out laughing at the absurd fantasy. But besides the photographs that turned the flooding into something of an aquatic playground, there are hundreds and thousands of unmodified pictures that capture the situation as it is -- some of the submerged shopping carts in the Megabangna parking lot, while another photo showed students rolling up their pants and holding their shoes.
Seeing so many pictures continuously and repetitively is normalising our shock to such events -- being exposed to something so often creates indifference because it becomes so ubiquitous and loses its punch. This works both ways and unfortunately, overexposure is also normalising our appreciation for beauty in life.
Back to the Maldivian water -- I mean the real thing this time. I've seen so many photos and videos of it on blogs, Instagram, my friend's feeds and so forth that I feel like I've already seen everything.
Of course, I would still want to head to this dream destination someday. Though the photos are informative, it steals the sense of wonder, with every single angle of every single thing documented for the world to see. I know exactly what it is that I'm going to see before I even get there and there isn't much of a "discover" factor.
It numbs my own excitement for what should be a heart-soaring experience, quite the same way celebrities no longer command the squeal factor. I have grown up in an age where it was extremely thrilling to spot your favourite star on the streets, but with the amount of coverage stars get today, be it motion, print or their own self-controlled digital outlets, I can now get a fix of him/her whenever and wherever I want.
There's new content every day too, so I am not subjected to admiring the same photo for days on end. Yet, there's something about the immense availability of a person that makes them lose their lustre, making them less of an enigma because they're so transparent. The digital world has brought with it convenience and an endless flurry of information at our fingertips, but I'm not too keen on how it has altered the way we live and interact with ourselves.
When everything you could possibly imagine is already on the internet, what becomes of your own imagination? This landscape of abundant visual data is one that isn't conducive to us exercising our thinking caps. In today's time, it lessens the ability and need to think for oneself, as it is much easier to seek answers on a screen than to actually do the thinking.
The advancement of animation, gifs and such visual aides may help us, but that does not make us better communicators. When there are memes, gifs and stickers that do the talking, it is easy to fall onto those options, as opposed to using words, to send your message across. I also know horrible conversationalists who go to humour sites such as 9gag and just get or share their laughs from there, rather than make an effort to entertain their friends.
The digital space is packed with distractions and flashing signs that vie for our attention, giving us little time to really process or appreciate what we are going through. To think, and to think deeply, is something we should never lose sight of being able to do, for it gives a difference sense of fulfilment that a second-hand thought, handed to us over the internet, cannot give.
Being able to know more shouldn't correlate with feeling less, so do log off every now and then, because it's the slow-burning offline that pushes you to feel and live it first-hand.
Parisa Pichitmarn is the editor of Muse.