Text by Carina Calin
Image by Michel Nguie
I was up all night writing an article about Loss in Modern Times.
And as I thought staying up would be easy, when packed up with coffee and a lot of blank pages to fill in, it was the roughest time I might have had in twenty something years: going down on memory lane.
Modern heartbreak is something about to exist with a life on its own, in between small breaths eyes scrolling through “seen” and “unseen”. Minutes. Hours. Days. And for the stubborn even weeks. It’s seeking for emotional acknowledgement through Instagram and Facebook. It’s a loss of connection, but a gain of control. It’s a reminder that heartbreak is not quiet anymore, but loud all over the internet. It’s not a reality that weighs heavy on the rib cage, in between sobs, with your best friend at 4:00 am. Reality is that you wake up at 4:00 am and they no longer like you on photos. It’s not the reality that they don’t hold you in bed anymore, but the lack of notifications on your phone first thing in the morning.
We have a deep-seated need for acceptance that it easily makes sway through the pyramid of survival needs. It’s rhythmic, it contracts, like there’s a dark pit in our stomach, making it hard to breathe, slowing down the heart, fastening up explanations. Because in times of modern heartbreak you have to explain, and explain, and explain, and explain, and explain. Because everything is out there. Because everyone sees it.
“Should I call him?”
“No, don’t be desperate.”
You’re checking to see if the number that’s no longer saved to your phone is in your inbox. It’s been blocked, unblocked, blocked again and the cycle just keeps going because you think maybe if they feel like they’ve lost you, they’ll try. Your eyes are strained and by the time your reach bedtime you realize it’s morning again. You think you care more because it’s morning all over again for you, and not for them.
The lights might be on, but the message notifications are still off. You thought an empty heart is hard to be filled? Wait till you see an empty inbox.
Pain is the best fuel you can have for transformation. But “Who’s Gonna Buy Your Chickens When I’m Gone?”.
