Must we always be engaging?

On doing things for the sake of it

Haikal and I had no choice but to drive down to Canberra. His new passport had come in and “there was no guarantee of its safety in the mail” according to the consulate. Not odds we wanted to gamble with considering our permanent residency visas and non-refundable tickets to Japan later in the year.

The road trip to Australia’s capital is not hard. In fact, the hardest part is getting out of Sydney if you’re trying to avoid the tolls; a game of weaving between neighbourhoods until the highway entrance. Following the map, we realised we were in Punchbowl. This was an every other weekend trip to visit a Malaysian grocery and cafe to stock up on our favourites. We loaded up on keuh, risoles and nasi goreng and went on our way.

Road trips were a common occurrence in my childhood, perhaps for many people growing up in the United States scattered from their friends and family. Summers were spent trekking for 12 hours to Pennsylvania to visit my grandparents, J.R.R. Tolkien tapes and Pokémon Blue keeping the sanity of everyone. Later we’d swap for a shorter trip, but still a trek, to Myrtle Beach to meet once a year. I never did the cross country drive to Washington to visit my dad’s side of the family; I flew even when I lived in Seattle. My brother took this journey though–four days driving through the beautiful mountain ranges and trudging through flat flyover country.

This is why moving to Australia felt familiar to me in a way it didn’t for Haikal. The vastness that amazed him felt commonplace to me.

I had our itinerary for the three hours ahead: play the backlog of albums, yap about what’s bothering us, and enjoy the scenery of New South Wales.

Yapping came first and finished once we had gotten on Hume Highway. I’ve been feeling “off” and used Haikal’s trapped attention to puzzle it out. It’s a little too much to share here, but know my worries were resolved and left behind in the city limits for the time being. Now we could focus on the music and the landscape.

Listening to an album from start to finish is my favourite way to listen to something new; I think the way the artist intended. We started with Clipse’s Let God Sort Em Out, Haikal’s current favorite. Then we tried a number that didn’t pass the play through test: Travis Scott’s JACKBOYS 2 (sadly, sequels can’t live up to the original), HAIM’s I quit (I quit after two songs), Kesha’s period (too hectic for the drive). Deciding we needed something reliable, we turned on Sxph’s ATLANTIS68. Haikal interviewed him recently and learned this album was completely self-produced. “Listen to it with that in mind,” he said to me, which then led into a discussion about where the music industry is heading.

Passing into the Southern Highlands, we travelled through the shale forests. Lush with eucalyptus trees that sprawl across the hills and rocky outcroppings. I am always amazed by these trees; how the branches twist towards the sky, by contrast to the straight and jutting pine trees of my childhood.

The Southern Highlands

We stopped at a rest area to eat our goodies. The drop in temperature had us feeling like unprepared city folk (of course the inland is colder), the rolling green hills of the highland as our backdrop.

Further south, we were in the Tablelands. The plains and valleys faded pale and sparse in the winter, cattle and sheep grazed the open space as we whizzed past. I decided to turn on Heaven or Las Vegas by the Cocteau Twins. The blue sky shining, the open nothingness, were perfect for daydreaming against its melodies.

By the time we reached Lake George, we had switched to Giveon’s BELOVED, knowing we were almost to Canberra.

Road trip highlights

—

I took videos and snippets along the way. I knew shots from the passenger side window wouldn’t capture the magic of what had happened: the music, the landscape, our conversations. It wouldn’t make sense to anyone; I just wanted them for the memories.

When we rested in the hotel that night, full from our dinner at INKA, I made a short reel from our drive. Editing on a phone is painful, but I pieced it together with Pitch the Baby before posting to Instagram. It wasn’t perfect or cinematic by any means; it was a way for me to share my life with my friends and family scattered around the globe.

I woke up to a notification from Instagram. People were not watching past three seconds. Here’s a link to best practices to be more engaging.

My notification

Perhaps this is my fault for switching to a business account, which I had done with the intention of “showcasing my personal brand” and “building my audience”. something I had yet to define, but felt I had to do it.

Since video is king, my first instinct was to talk through my essays or insights from my day. Then post on Instagram and TikTok.

I absolutely hated it. I filmed myself five times. I deleted them all before posting. Content creators are stronger than I am. Something about having to optimise for video sends me into a tizzy. I overthink every step: what’s the brief, how are we going to execute on it for this brand and why do I look so terrible all the time?

I wonder how differently I would have experienced this trip if I had gone in with a different intention in mind, one where I had to create content to showcase myself. The trip that allowed me to rest my mind would have been filled with shot lists. Even though I took tons of videos, it was all random nonsense with no narrative in mind. My version of home videos.

I also wondered why I was even trying to make it big(ger) on Instagram. It didn’t play to my strengths. Of course I could crack my knuckles and dust off my film major knowledge. I could read everything out there, study the medium again, and give the diligence I give to all my creative projects.

But I had never really intended to play in this space or this medium. I was only doing it because I thought I had to. And how far would I go in trying to make it big? Knowing who content is prioritised nowadays, I’d probably have to try making grating high energy videos that keep someone past 3 seconds or those annoying YouTube thumbnails where everyone is screaming at something.

And truly, people aren’t searching for optimisation on the internet. They want a point-of-view. They want to understand, learn or experience other people’s lives. We have such an unprecedented connection with others in the world now. The algorithm wants engagement. I think we want to see people at their best.

We want to see where people excel; videos, photos, audio, text, whatever way expression comes naturally, even with the hard work. That’s where you come alive. I think this is what people miss from the old internet. The wonder of technology that connected people, the joy of sharing everything to give knowledge and find connections.

I feel so free writing. Every day I look forward to it. I have found the medium I want to express myself in. Even if I'm not the best at it yet, I want to progress and learn. I share it because I hope it will help someone and, if nothing else, it gives me personal satisfaction to publish it.

But every morning, notifications arrive: views, shares, impressions, likes. Yesterday’s post performed poorly. Last week’s was better. All the data intended to help someone grow instead feels like a cage.

What if we returned to that passenger seat state of mind? Where the only audience was our companions and landscape around us, the only metrics were how the music made us feel, the only optimisation was finding the perfect album for the moment we were in?

The road reminded me of something I forgot: that doing things for their own sake is not a luxury. It is the only way to stay human in a world obsessed with performance.

So here’s a permission slip: write the essay, take the photos, make the video, post the thing. Not because it will get views or build your follow, but because it’s Thursday and you felt like it.

—

I write these essays because they feel worth sharing. Here are a few more:

Must we always progress?

What is the value of our time?

Will it ever be enough?

—

If this resonated with you, consider subscribing or sharing with others. It means the world to me, thank you!