You Tubers Are Lonely People

Recently, I’ve been watching a lot of videos on YouTube. Mostly about writing, literature, and the English language. I must say, I can’t stop myself from exploring through various channels. Some offers are highly exciting, no matter what the subject would be. Right after you enter the website, you would see a hundred eyes looking at you and inviting you to their rooms for a chit-chat. The cover pictures have been designed with high delicacy. They are trying to attach the intriguing title to the details of the picture. In general, they are implying, “Come to my room. I have something special for you”.

When I walk into these stranger’s rooms, they start super-fast and cut to the chase to prevent me from getting tedious. They come up with a compelling idea, and while staring straight into my eyes, bring up useful information about the subject. In a casual way of checking You Tubes all day, we leave their rooms 5 to 20 minutes later. Then we decide if we want to walk into that door again or not by clicking on the subscribe button.

But for me, it has been different lately. For a few days, I used to get lost in the subject, just looking into my host’s eyes and enjoying our similar interest areas from miles away. But after a while, I began to look at the background, those faded things behind the host, which has been designed too. fancy bookshelves, colorful walls, and sometimes a closed door to the world outside which, holds a hanger full of jackets and trousers. Maybe I am not allowed to do so, but I guess I reduce the distance between us. I began to feel at home just by looking around the room.

When I watch a video this way, I start to feel something, something more than just receiving the required information about a subject. I feel a sort of loneliness, residing among all the stuff around the presenter. I think about their way of satisfying the shared desire for communicating. I think about their attachment to the world and the true meaning of adventure and experience. Finally, I return to my room, which is not a bit different, and I ask my questions again and again. Because after all, I’ve accepted the invitation, so I guess we are not that different at all.

I saw a documentary about Ernest Hemingway a while ago. One of the speakers said that Hemingway was not that kind of a writer who suits up every morning, puts on his glass, and sits behind his chair and writes all day. He had an adventurous soul, and he had at least one scar on his body all the time. I think it is a sad fact that we are not able to connect with the world outside without a go-between. We have lost the ability to sense a feeling truly. I guess for us, Love, fear, wrath, hate are all felt and represented artificially.
Look like we are not able to imagine another kind of life anymore. We have to sit behind shouted doors of our rooms and invite strangers for a short time. And ask them to leave before they get curious about the secrets behind our well-decorated stuff.

A young writer from Iran. (