Dear Globalization,
You have caused me so much unneeded pain that I decided the best way to address them was through a letter for I cannot bear to speak to you face to face. As I spent my days drowning my sorrows in a coma-inducing feast, dipping my French fries into an Oreo McFlurry (which wouldn’t be available if it weren’t for you by the way) while Sarah McLachlan made my soul eat itself, I realized that you are the reason my life has become what it is now. You have taken everything from me.
You are the reason I have so many online identities that even the CIA think my generation is eternally high for serving up so much personal information voluntarily. Perhaps cellular phones actually did damage the adolescent neurodevelopment of fetuses born in the 80s but I, like the rest of the cyberfolk, comply with Timelines and full digital biographies just because it is the way of the future. Your way.
You are the reason I have grown an extra appendage that keeps me connected to everyone at all times. I cannot part from it as if it were caught in the Peter Parker webs that grow from my wrists but are made of indestructible Admantium spider-silk. The little device that shares a spot near my bedside soothes my addiction to social networks that keep me in touch with people who I might have met once that time with those friends in that place. And it’s all your fault.
I have been separated from those I actually care for because they had to seek greener pastures elsewhere and they managed to do that in separate cities on separate continents for fluctuating periods of time. I’m a slave of messenger services and videochatting just to feel like my posse is still in my jurisdiction, let alone hemisphere, when in reality there is always someone sacrificing precious hours of sleep just to hear the other complain about how many hours of sleep they recently sacrificed.
That’s another thing: sleep. With the constant competitive race that I am in, always trying to be one step ahead just so I can get the career I deserve, it feels as though I am committing an adulterous affair every time I try to stealthily squeeze in an hour of pleasure: an hour of slumber that is. Don’t even get me started on romance. You need me to survive but give me nothing but loneliness in return. You should know that showering me with supersize meals and toffee nut lattes will never satisfy my hunger for intimacy. I put so much effort into what we are building together but all you do is take, take, take. I’m too young for anything serious with you, and yet, I’m too old to just be casual. But that is my relationship with you because you’re all I have left; I am trapped in isolated purgatory. You always motivated me to push for the top tier so I could move away and make millions just like everyone else in my little circle has done. However, I don’t want to play anymore. I’ve been doing this under the illusion that you are helping me because you want me to succeed. I was wrong. All you want is your own success; you want to take over the world and I’m just a pawn in your devious plan. Well, no more. You’ve taken everyone away and I want them back. I’m going to expose you for what you are: a multibillion dollar scam artist that braindrains my poor little microcosm of all its fine young talents under the guise of “opportunity” and “24/7 electricity”. Soon, the world will know what you’ve really been doing, not only to me, but to them as well.
We are so over,
Lebanese Twenty-Somethings
Bambi's Soapbox 
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