Sarahah: Speak up. I can’t hear you. | Getting Personal

In an attempt to grow into a more multi-faceted blogger and writer, I’m trying something new. I’ve always admired Lucy of and her ever-popular “Mindful Monday” posts, and wondered if I could ever pull off such a personal and opinionated series and still be able to call it journalism. Every attempt I’ve made has ended in frustration and tears, yet here I am again to make a new attempt. Welcome to my mind.

The newest and most heavily discussed app in my collection of social media is Sarahah. If you haven’t heard of it, do me a favor and open a new tab to google it for yourself. In a word, the app thrives off of young people having far too much to say about each other without the fear of the recipient knowing from whom it was sent. I, being a sheeple from time to time, decided to download and create an account in order to play the game of “which friend sent what message about my makeup being ‘on fleek?’” Trust me, it’s a barrel of monkeys.

However, I’m here to bring something else to the table involving this app.

My sleep-deprived self unlocked my phone and fired up ye olde Sarahah at my desk job late last night, and found two new messages with very different meanings, both seemingly sent by the same person. The first message, I will be discussing in this post. The second, I will be keeping private, and not speaking on in this post.

The message in question was sent by someone who identified themselves as someone who was “loosely connected [to me] throughout highschool,” and has graduated. After beginning the message with a compliment to my “passion for justice,” they detail that they’ve come to realize their feelings for me.

My first reactions aside, I can’t put the message out of my head. Congratulations, Mystery Messenger! I’m angry. Frustrated. Dumbfounded. Is this really what it’s come to? Hiding behind the guise of anonymity in an app on your phone in order to branch out, worry-free? All talk of cyberbullying aside, these sorts of websites and apps set communication back a great deal.

I’m really tiptoeing around the point here, so I’m just going to say it. I never thought that anyone I went to high school with, besides the friends I’ve maintained, gave a single shit about me. And you, Mystery Messenger, are no exception. (I’m well aware that you could be a friend messing with me or an ex-boyfriend here just to fuck with my head, but I’m rooting for you.) There’s a reason for that, too.

I thought nobody cared because nobody has ever given me a reason to think otherwise. Why is everyone so caught up in expressing their unguarded feelings, hidden behind a screen without even considering the person that will end up reading, hearing, seeing those messages. On the other hand, why not get it off your chest for real? And in any case, why rob yourself the feeling of being pleasantly surprised if you find out that your feelings are reciprocated?

In the time it’s taken me to develop my blogging personality and general content ideas, I’ve been dead-set on never allowing my personal thoughts or feelings, and therefore, vulnerability, overrule or derail the discussion on pop culture, gaming, or whatever I want to maintain with my unmatched wit mixed in. (I suppose that’s why it’s taken me so long to develop a “Mindful Monday”-esque series.) Therefore, I see this post as quite symbolic for what I wish we were doing, instead of promoting vessels like Sarahah or the Ask feature on Tumblr: brutal honesty in the face of pride in maintaining a concrete image, where vulnerability isn’t allowed.


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