Not long ago, I did a "spring cleaning" on QQ—deleted many so-called "friends." The reason I call them "friends" is that they are more like strangers on a list. I cleaned my friend list like clearing out the dust-covered clutter in the corners of a room, discarding those meaningless contacts one by one. Most of them were just friends added in countless situations, but afterward, they remained forever empty. They quietly lay in the friend list, occupying space like old items I couldn't bear to throw away but were utterly useless, even somewhat annoying to look at. Opening QQ and seeing these "friends" didn't give me a sense of security; those names felt very unfamiliar to me, and I was sure I was the same to them. Since we had never gotten close, why should we occupy each other's lists?
I also left many QQ groups, inspired by a recent comment I heard from TIM of Film and Television Hurricane: "In today's fast-paced society, do we really need to know so much?" It made me think about whether these groups were really useful to me. Endless chatting, arguments, and emotionally clueless remarks... it was overwhelming. I really didn't need my life to be filled with so many irrelevant messages... My QQ list became much shorter and felt a lot fresher, didn't it?
I've always had some social anxiety and fear of social interactions, disliking those strangers who suddenly add me as friends, feeling resistant to such baseless friend requests—neither are they friends, nor do they have anything formal to discuss with me, just occupying my friend list for no reason. I often regret accepting others' friend requests afterward: I don't really want to connect with them; socializing sometimes feels like a difficult problem for me. Strangers suddenly intruding into my world leave me at a loss, even a bit repulsed. I dislike the forced pleasantries because I know we won't become real friends.
Not long ago, I played on a Minecraft server with an acquaintance. At that time, there were only the two of us left on the server, and we chatted casually. He suddenly sighed and said, "I deleted QQ, and I no longer have to obsessively check for any activity on QQ like a sickly person." When I heard this, I was taken aback; I understood that feeling too well: always occasionally opening QQ, obsessively checking if anyone sent me a message or if there were new group messages, as if I were expecting something, or perhaps just habitually seeking validation. That friend said he deleted QQ and no longer obsessively stared at it; I felt very envious. This obsession with socializing is like an addiction; I know that most of the time nothing will happen, yet I can't help but repeatedly open my phone just to see that lonely "0 new messages"...
My mindset has always been quite contradictory: on one hand, I often feel lonely, yearning for friends' companionship and more social interaction; on the other hand, I feel weary and repulsed by superficial small talk and ineffective socializing. I crave connection but always resist excessive contact; it's a paradoxical irony. Whenever I feel extremely lonely, I desperately hope someone will chat with me, as if that would prove I'm still alive. However, when someone (especially someone I'm not very familiar with) approaches me to talk, my vigilance and fatigue kick in—I want to escape or end the conversation. It feels like two parts of me coexist: one fears being consumed by loneliness, while the other fears being drowned in social interactions. This tug-of-war makes it hard for me to hold on; I know why I need to delete those people to lighten my burden. The emotional pendulum swings between the desire for communication and the fear of socializing, leaving me unsure of what I truly want. Deleting those irrelevant contacts, at least during tough emotional times, can lessen the burden of dealing with them; yet when I crave communication, facing an empty friend list forces me to accept a reality: they never needed me, while I always longed for someone to understand me.
Since then, I've begun to understand a principle: rather than letting a bunch of superficial relationships fill my life, it's better to cultivate a few sincere connections, even if they are pitifully few. The quality of socializing is far more important than quantity; this simple truth is something I've only truly grasped now. I've always feared loneliness but have consistently refused to settle. Those moments of unwillingness to settle have shaped who I am today: a clean friend list and very few people around me.
But the most regrettable thing is that what is lost is never those "chicken ribs," but the past that can never return.
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