a millennial's tragedy

I have grown rather fond of the word 'millennial'. For I am one and it also goes along well with another of my favorite word: tragedy. I think they have one deep connection. Tragedy is a word dripping gloom itself while the term millennial is quite a responsibility these days. Thus, it's gloomy in its own way.
I am a millennial who has accepted this fact of being one, which was brought to my shoulders from people born years apart from this generation. A generation that had technology thrust in their hands as toddlers. Then people who were almost two generations apart, who were the main cause of the technology, felt the right to speak about the rotten millennial habits of being too into technology.

I am babbling, as it seems to me, which is a very millennialist approach at its core. But this isn't the whole point. I am doing it for the sake of a tragedy that struck me quite recently and it's one that could be called a very millennial-ish tragedy.


If I were to write an essay about my problems, it would include a silent heartbreak when my Instagram photo didn't get all the love I hoped it would get, when my Twitter notifications tab was as empty as my bank account even when I had put some good tweets to roll, or when my iPhone was running out of battery faster than ever because their damned company had launched a new phone and their old ones started rotting so that we poor souls would have to buy the new one. My list of real problems could never appear like a list of problems to so many people. I consider it a problem itself, just not important enough to put on my list of problems.
Since the most important problems from my list of problems were focused on one thing, the good old internet, one could imagine my horror when I woke up five days ago to the news of internet not working. I didn't have many options, either. I was not in a city where my cellular network would be generous enough to let me be privileged with the fastest internet they once tempted me with and which certainly doesn't work in all parts of the country as their advert suggested. I wish I could sue them. But it also needed some sort of internet connection, for I am as unaware of legal proceedings as I was unaware of my sophomore year's syllabus (the only difference was the will: I wanted to know the legal proceedings and never loved sophomore year that much anyways). I gave up, ready to mourn for the tragedy that had struck me out of nowhere, shaking my millennial soul more violently than anything else had ever done before, leaving me bewildered and very upset, indeed.

It turned out a huge technical difficulty had turned up and our internet was not to return for a long time. I was already in the mood for mourning, didn't mind much. I clung to the tragedy as it had clung to me, uninvited. We had one thing to go on about: it was the tragedy and I was a millennial. I heard we went along well. It turned out to be quite true.

After 5 days, lots of tears, extra naps and enraged calls to service centers later, I got the internet. I knew I wasn't lucid dreaming. That the beeps of my phone's and the brightness of my laptop's screen was real. We had passed a millennial tragedy. I am still in awe.

Is there something else you would consider a millennial's tragedy? TELL ME

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1 comment :

  1. You might be qualified for a complimentary Apple iPhone 7.


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