Two months ago, I lost a dear friend to suicide.
He was one of the happiest people I knew, and none of us, neither myself nor our mutual friends, saw it coming. We all wish we could have done something.
But our friend’s cheerful disposition hid his grief so well that our informal chats revealed nothing unusual.
Looking back, there were some clues, albeit subtle ones.
“Catching up with you soon man,” he wrote to me on Instagram just a week before his death.
“Sure, let’s make a proper one,” I said, noting that our last in-person conversation lasted 10 minutes.
“Yes please,” he replied immediately. “I’m always up for a good heart-to-heart talk.”
I made a mental note to come back with a date and time for dinner. Unfortunately, I never did.
A part of me will always wonder what that meal would have been like and if there was anything I could have said or done to change his mind.
I imagine us confiding in each other about the usual issues (work, family, love) and washing some of those issues away with a bottle of wine.
But I guess I’ll never know.
DEALING WITH PAIN AND TECHNOLOGY
In the days leading up to my friend’s funeral, I became quite disillusioned with social media and disinterested in texting.
On the one hand, it felt weird to express my pain publicly. As someone who is used to sharing happy moments online, telling Instagram and TikTok that I was sad seemed counterintuitive and gratuitous.
He also resented technology for making everything seem fine, even when it wasn’t.
So much for social media and texting bringing people closer, I thought. How many times have we written “how are you?” someone, only to get “I’m fine, and you” as a routine response and assume they’re really fine?
Such is the illusion of care that sometimes comes with digital communication. These rushed virtual interactions can not only provide us with a false sense of normalcy, but also allow people who need our help to slip into oblivion.
I am aware that my bout of resentment toward technology is confused with a tinge of survivor’s guilt: a nagging pain that my friend chose death and that our plan to meet never materialized.
But this incident has also reminded me that we can be overly reliant on digital communication to express our care and concern for others, sometimes at a cost.
These days, we use social media and messaging apps as a convenient crutch to “check in” and “catch up” with our loved ones.
Hearts in Instagram tweets and reels, emoticons and voice messages in WhatsApp family groups, stickers and video bubbles in Telegram chats – all these indicate that we are interested and involved in the lives of others, but how often amount to more than perfunctory greetings and fleeting exchanges?
VIRTUAL CARE CAN DO A LOT
There’s no denying that these virtual interactions are effective ways to stay connected.
Even humble emojis, modern hieroglyphs being that they are, can say more than a thousand words.
Research has shown that emojis have the ability to enhance cross-cultural communication.
A 2016 study by Hamza Alshenqeeti at Taibah University suggests that emojis may have universal connotations and are “devices for demonstrating tone, intent, and sentiment” that would typically be conveyed through non-verbal cues in personal interactions.
Digital methods also help us stay in touch, especially if we live far away.
I remember feeling incredibly homesick once while studying abroad in California. It was Chinese New Year, but university classes were in full swing, and the prosaic atmosphere was a far cry from the noisy festivities he was used to.
Thanks to a Skype video call, I could feel like I was at home celebrating with my family, even if it was only for an hour.
However, despite all these advantages, virtual communication has its limits. Emojis and messages often result in emotional and semantic ambiguity, and while they can be comforting, they are rarely deep and nuanced reflections of our well-being.
Nor are they warm hugs, romantic kisses, or shoulders to cry on, physical acts that serve as hallmarks of our humanity and compassion.
A recent video ad from Income insurer incisively sums up today’s “show care” culture.
There’s a scene where a man gets into a car accident, only to see his car littered with numerous heart-hugging smileys or care emojis.
In another scene, an elderly woman with cancer sits at home with nothing but beating hearts for company.
These bullet points stayed with me because they are poignant reminders that emojis, messages, and comments can only do so much when you need it to.
Showing care means being there. Virtual care may be well-intentioned, but let’s not forget how important it is to be physically available to our loved ones.
As much as technology has made communication easier, I shudder to think of a world without hugs, kisses, and someone to lean on in times of trouble.
If anything, the coronavirus pandemic has shown that we still crave and value physical companionship and intimacy.
COFFEE WITH EMOJI
I have always prided myself on being a good friend, but it took losing my friend to realize how much better I can be.
These days, I try to make more time and be physically available for my loved ones.
With every emoji I send, I now suggest a cup of coffee if I feel like someone has something to vent.
With every text I receive, I make sure to invite someone over for a meeting if I feel like they’re getting lonely.
With every cry for help that I am not prepared to handle, I strive to introduce them to someone who can intervene.
All of this may sound like common sense, but when was the last time our actions spoke louder than our words?
In my case, I didn’t keep a promise to catch up with a friend and missed out on being there for him when it mattered.
I know that nothing can bring him back. But the least I can do now is reach out to those who are still around and hope that maybe, just maybe, my presence will give them enough comfort and support to carry on.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Yeo Sam Jo is a former journalist working in the media industry. He is also a co-host of The SG Boys, a podcast dealing with LGBTQ+ issues in Singapore.
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