Chapter 1: The Digital Conundrum

Is it really essential to be so attached to our devices? We often find better images online than those we take ourselves. For instance, I curate a collection of my favorite memes on my phone, holding onto them for a year before I conduct my annual decluttering. If a meme resonates, I might save it again when it resurfaces. The crucial thing is that I can part with them without much distress.

While others preserve photos for sentimental value, I don’t share that sentiment. Each month, I purge some of my images, but I always retain my top memes. They serve as a sort of emotional therapy when I need a mood boost.

One meme humorously contrasts Isaac Newton’s groundbreaking discoveries during the plague with someone who simply made sourdough during COVID-19. This juxtaposition speaks volumes about our cultural decline, inviting laughter—or perhaps not.

Friends often question my lack of attachment to personal photos. “Don’t you cherish memories with loved ones?” they ask, visibly disappointed when I reply, “Not really.” My feelings are simply shaped by contemporary life, which encourages such detachment.

“People evolve in how they present themselves,” I explain to my friends who mourn the past. “We were all awkward once; it’s best to forget those moments.” I remind them that social media keeps their memories alive, popping up in my feed like reminders of the pandemic.

In contrast to the careful selection required in the days of film photography, digital allows for endless snaps and deletions. Filters can create an illusion of expertise, making even a mundane cloud look like a masterpiece. My goal is to keep my phone devoid of excessive personal data. I refuse to let it be the ultimate source of my stress.

To nosy individuals, my phone would be a letdown; its contents are minimal, and my apps are few. I often uninstall apps shortly after downloading them, creating a sterile digital space. This lack of drama even puzzled past partners who had access to my phone.

“Don’t you hide anything?” they’d ask, to which I’d respond, “Why would I?” I genuinely don’t understand the fuss. Without my phone, I’d adapt and survive just fine.

“What if someone needs to contact you?” my Gen Z nieces asked, looking exasperated. I calmly explained that I’m not important enough to warrant constant availability. Unless you’re a world leader, most calls can wait. We’ve created a myth that every call is urgent, but unless it’s life-threatening, it can likely be postponed.

Once, my mother called me repeatedly while I was interviewing a chef. I had to apologize for the interruption, only to find she needed the number for Pizza Hut. I was humiliated, realizing the chef overheard my family’s casual dining preferences. In that moment, I felt anything but professional.

This incident marked a turning point; I decided that work hours would be free from personal interruptions, barring true emergencies.

As I climbed the corporate ladder, my phone became an extension of myself—necessary yet burdensome. The boundaries between work and personal life blurred, especially in Southeast Asia.

I realized that some bosses thrived on this constant connectivity, using it as a means of control. The rise of work-related group chats became a societal blunder, and it fostered a culture of anxious attachment.

You find yourself on call 24/7, and during my youth, I fell for the myth that such leaders were truly dedicated.

Smartphones were intended to simplify life, yet we’ve turned them into tools for guilt and constant availability. In the past, missed calls weren’t scrutinized; if the phone rang at 2:30 a.m., it signaled something serious. We lived in a time where the weekend could remain undisturbed until Monday.

Chapter 2: The Illusion of Productivity

The perception of productivity has shifted. I’ve kept a meme depicting a possum that emphasizes the absurdity of employer-employee dynamics.

When I became a leader, it dawned on me: those who call after hours often lack effective time management and likely lead unfulfilling lives. True leaders inspire by example and respect others’ time.

Competent leaders show empathy, understanding that deadlines may weigh heavily on team members. They recognize that if someone struggles, it reflects a need for support, not incompetence.

Many fail to rise above mediocrity, often occupying top positions through luck or favoritism. I have a meme that humorously captures this sentiment: “I’m busy doing things I don’t need to do to avoid doing what I should be doing.”

Former PepsiCo CEO Indra Nooyi wisely noted, “If your planner is full, you’re doing it wrong.”

As we reflect on our reliance on smartphones, we recognize their potential to foster misery in our management styles.

Before smartphones, we absorbed knowledge from unconventional sources, like reading labels in the restroom. We were aware of the chemicals in our products, fostering a level of independence that has diminished today.

Over-dependence on our devices has stifled our ability to think critically. We’ve become prisoners of our phones, a truth captured by a meme stating, “That’s why it’s called a cell phone.”

To break free from this dependence, we must learn to cultivate a life without excessive digital interaction. Engaging with nature, forming connections with local people, or revisiting old hobbies can help build a healthier lifestyle.

As 2023 approaches, I face the daunting task of deleting 8,965 photos and memes—a refreshing reset.