Dearest Facebook,
I don’t know how to say this, but I’ve decided to stay away before it becomes impossible to quit you. Please know that doing this is like cutting off my arm, like sacrificing my firstborn, like selling my soul to the devil. To use the clichést cliché there is, “It’s not you, it’s me.” You, of the innumerable charms and applications, how can it be your fault? No, my dearest, the blame lies squarely on my very un-squarish shoulders.
I hope you understand that this has been the toughest decision of my socially irrelevant existence. And there are a thousand things I’ll miss (two thousand, if that’s the number of quizzes you have) about you. I’ll miss the writings on my walls, my posts on my friends’ walls; the constant stalking without being registered as a sex offender (I’m looking at you Grace Anne Alviar a.k.a Khemmie and Shirley Angela Regular); the shameless self-promotion. God, I don’t think I can go on. Please continue the awesomeness, even if I’m not there. I just want you to know how much you have changed my life, and that I’ll never forget you, even as Twitter beckons.
Your number one fan,
Mel Rodriguez
P.S. I’ll see you in a week.
Love again,
Mel
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