Instagram at 60

Today I’m 60. I doubled my age overnight to see how it feels. I would probably never get to 60 if not for this. Everyone else aged 30 years too. The world around probably did too, but I’m not interested in that. I’m staying inside today, on my phone.

I check Instagram, the app I use the most, and the first thing I do, I jump to the list of the people I follow to see what they’ve been up to. Half of them are dead. Yes, the beautiful women who were always dancing and telling witty jokes, who gave great beauty advice and showcased the prettiest outfits, they’re dead too. Stuck in time at the age they’ve passed, they kept time still with their beauty and youth. I see some got to have children, some handsome husbands, some had beauty and happiness born from the fire of their souls. All dead.

Some got over cancer, a few times even. Some are still battling it and posting about it every day, letting us know they’re still here.

Some people I followed just vanished. I don’t know what happened. I’m not close to all the 600 people I follow. I wonder, though, if they realized how much of a waste Instagram was and went on to pursue something more meaningful before it was too late. I wonder if that’s the case. Whenever I scroll through here, I wonder if my time too is wasted or not. Thank God for the art. I never have doubts about that.

Almost everyone was around my age yesterday. Today they’re all geezers or dead. My Instagram is almost empty. It feels empty. Even though I have almost the same number of people I follow. Because dead people’s profiles don’t count, do they?