Ah, memes - the Gen Z edition of conveying one’s sense of humor.

A great invention, I might say.

The image, coupled with a witty caption and/or reimagined context, provides an inside look into the mind of the creator by conveying their unique blend of visual and semantic associations to the masses. With the ongoing global pandemic, what better way is there to share jokes than through posting intricately-crafted memes?

Well, there’s the issue of genuine human connection, or lack thereof.

Quarantine has led me to me realize that relating to and laughing at memes only create the illusion that we are understood within the wider community, or in other words, it’s only a pseudo-connection.

A proper meme should contain a joke, often a remark regarding a photo or video. The text either embeds the joke in the frame of reference or strips the image of its context altogether. Regardless, a functional meme should provide sufficient context for the audience to grasp the creator’s comedic vision of the given scenario. Whether or not a meme caters to the viewer’s sense of humor, it was created with the intent of it being understood. So no, you aren’t special for getting the joke.

Unlike with a riddle told manually, the recipient of a meme, in most cases, is sat alone in their room, scrolling through social media at a time they probably shouldn’t be. Identifying with the creator and comments doesn’t mean you’re laughing with other people, it means you have a brain. Your brain works and you’ve just viewed something that people find funny. One can also compare this analogy to other forms of media and ask, So what’s the difference? Literature, film, theatre, etc. are bound to invoke richer discussion unlike most memes, which often invoke nothing more than a nose-huff of laughter and a double-tap at best. Memes are addicting, but are they worth our time?

Sharing memes with one another, however, is a different story. Similar to discussing common interests, the back-and-forth sending of memes has the potential to reinforce existing relationships and add a fresh dimension to both monotonous and prosperous ones alike.

Once in a while, I still allow myself to wallow in the cesspool of memes that is my Instagram feed - and by once in a while, I mean one hour maximum per day. Maybe.

With these revelations in mind, though, I have to remind myself that the resulting illusion of human connection may be preventing me from reaching out to people I know during quarantine. I’ve found that the healthiest way for me to devour memes as I please is to forward my favorites to a friend and start a conversation rather than scrolling past right away :)

My mind has been clouded with thoughts of you

Books, grades, disappointment

Anxiety, sleep, doubt

My first.

Another test, a trial

Will I pass?

Lost something I thought would last

Then you came along

I couldn't be with you

We're the same, but different

Different ways, different beliefs of what's above

Staring at the screen

Not being able to hear your voice

Not actually having you beside me

Yet you still make me smile

Cheered me up from the sadness that loss has brought

And made me forget

Minutes to hours

Then eventually to "goodnights"

Every. Single. Day.

The clouds wouldn't leave me alone

The constant, forbidden desire of comfort

Touch.

A somewhat dangerous friendship

But I didn't want it to end.

I'm sorry.

It would be funny, I thought, to raise this pepper pot above my head and slam it upright onto the table to silence my rowdy cousins.

That probably sounds dumb. In my defense, though, our parents were telling us to order our food and I was absolutely certain that everyone would appreciate my clever reference to a judge with a gavel getting everyone in court to shut up, while at the same time, telling everyone to order their damn food.

So I did just that.

I raised the thing above my head, slammed it on the table and yelled, “order!”

Everyone flinched and nobody laughed. Who would've thought?

When I finally picked it up again, a detached glass base remained on the table.

Out tumbled a sad mound of pepper, which just stared at me as it lay there.

It looked utterly disappointed.

I don’t remember what we told the waiter when he came to take the orders.

She was finally here.

I watched her set foot on the carpet, red stilettos sinking in ever so slightly.

The lace hem of her skirt brushed against the skin on her thighs as she walked over.

I willed it to hike up - even a little bit, but to no avail.

She sat across me. I noticed the colour in her cheeks.

They were plump, growing even plumper when she gave me that smile.

I followed the flesh in her face as it rolled up and down her forehead, twitched when she laughed and creased as she blinked, but nothing could avert my eyes from those cheeks.

Ripe and rich and soft, but to the perfect extent firm.

Almost good enough to bite into.

I saw you lying there

with a bullet in your breast,

struggling for breath, wasting away

All it took was one hit

from a stranger’s gun

No one loved you, you thought.

Your bloodsoaked shirt

clung tightly to your skin

I tried to cut you free, believe me.

Blind with pride, refused,

nailed each limb to the ground,

You put yourself to sleep.

The bed of blood would then dry up,

your flesh eaten away

A mass of bones to sink into the earth without a trace.

When I saw you lying there,

life still trickling out your chest, I knew:

nothing fate brought could have saved you.

Bold but reserved.

Strikingly silent.

Shrouded in modesty

and decked with arrogance.

Its face is obvious, uncomplicated,

honest, peaceful, plain --

uncanny, obscure, devious.

A disguise wild with deceit

Powerful as well as idle.

A bewitching allure,

or a bland sight to behold

Luxurious, yet starved of vibrancy

Austere and aloof

but downright dominant,

Blotting out any trace

of inferior hues

I.

Are you Angry?

So much so that your biscuit brown eyes

light up in flames of raspberry -

flickering with malicious intent?

Does the blood in your veins burn?

As you bite your rose tongue,

do you yearn

to scream out and let the voices in your head be heard?

II.

It feels as if the feelings will stay forever,

maybe build a home in your twisted little heart.

But just as the clouds reveal the sun after a storm,

a storm that seems to have an end - never.

You remember you can do that too, and reveal your true side,

that is Sweet, an oozing-with-sugar strawberry tart.

I miss the world before I became a teenager

How my backyard filled with ants and dirt was a grand playground

And peanut butter jelly sandwiches were high class meals

Where my parents' bed was the safest spot in the galaxy

And where my dark room felt brighter with the touch of my stuffed animals

I miss how my life was before I had worries

How everyone was friends with everyone and didn't judge superficially

And how staying up until 9 o'clock on a school night was a privilege

Where the littlest things made me happy for days

Where summer felt like an endless dream

And the first snowfall was tangible magic

I miss my younger self and the confident she beheld

How she believed in herself and her future

I miss that