puja-shah

Twitter is the hot, new online phenomena, the Twitosphere, or basically the cyber world’s texting for the masses. And everyone’s twittering about it.

It’s like a micro-blog, with a 140 character limit per post, or twit, you can broadcast: “what you are doing” to your friends via a free online form at twitter.com. This little tid-bit about yourself is displayed on your personal profile page on the site, which includes a thumbnail pic of yourself, and in turn is linked to your friends’ Twitter pages. And that’s not all. Twitter can sync with all your multimedia devices and internet pages, therefore, you can send updates directly to your MySpace or Facebook page, can have updates sent as a group text message or even as an instant message online.

This way, everyone knows what you are doing-ALL THE TIME. And in our attention seeking, look at me! society, who wouldn’t love to share every little mundane fact in your head with the world? And better yet, who wouldn’t want to know about all your friends’ daily lives? We love information about other people, don’t we? Like when Maria is “waiting in line at Starbucks for her fave green tea latte” or Sam is “bored and playing Guitar Hero” or Jenni is “wondering why Steve broke up with her in the middle of Times Square.”

Even Celebs are twittering. Not too long ago, it was reported that Jennifer Anniston broke up with John Mayer, (again, but for real this time), for his twittering obsession, saying he didn’t have time to text or call her, but was able to twitter everyone else every hour.

It’s the new wave of communication-forget the old fashioned email or should I say, even more ancient, phone call. Who has time for that?

New job offer? Engaged? Dog died?

Just twitter it.

So, is twitter taking over?

It seems so. Last year the number of twitterees was at 340,000 public accounts, with a steady rise of 2,000 new members per day. Some argue that Twitter is too impersonal and will turn our dialects with each other into short meaningless conversations that are superficial and shallow in content.

Others say that Twitter is more than a mainstream new fad like Facebook and offers real connections, in a way that texting or a phone call cannot. A friend of mine recently replied to my twitter saying she never knew I wrote poetry, when I had sent a link out to my blog on my Twitter page, and we started exchanging poems via email. Another friend told me that he liked knowing the mini-events in his brother’s day, who lives across the country from him, and that it makes him feel connected to his daily life, something their random phone calls to each other never did.

So, is twitter a revolution for our social networking or the exact opposite? What are your thoughts?

Just twitter it.

It was you,

My first love,

who taught me what its like,

to feel comfort being in my own skin.

You taught me about culture,

with mommy’s Jewish boss and our Chinese neighbor,

with the Puerto Rican bodega on the corner,

and the Italian ice cream parlor where pops would give

me free ice cream floats.

 

You, my first love,

who taught me about my own roots,

with masala scents filling the air at dinner,

with nana telling us of historic epic poems from tapestries hanging in our home.

You, my love,

who showed me how to love dance,

with Navrati,

and love to find rhythm in praying to my goddesses,

With burgundy silk blouses,

and saffron and blue colored scarves,

I danced.

You showed me tranquility,

with my temple,

jasmine scented incense and red carpeting and coconut water juice I’d sip with my hands.

 

 

It was you who built my childhood memories,

watching Yankees games on my father’s shoulders,

dinosaurs at the Museum of Natural History,

the scent of chestnuts at Rockefeller Center,

and lighting candles in St. Patrick’s Cathedral.

 

You,

who let me ride the subways alone for the first time,

took the 1-9,

12 yrs. old with ripped Levis and a Drew Barrymore haircut,

cuttin’ school and sneaking to meet a boy at Manhattan Mall.

You who let me get my ear cartilage pierced when my parents said no.

My first love,

you,

opened doors for me,

in my teenage years,

with Broadway shows and trips to Tower Records for the newest Fugees album,

with Knicks games and Janet concerts at the Garden,

with summers of free Shakespeare in Central Park,

and 25-cent coquitos at my apartment corner.

Sitting on the stoop eating Rays Pizza or Mamou’s,

and sweet  summer nights at outdoor clubs.

 

You, who taught me about lust,

with meeting Hector in Herald Square or dancing salsa at Carbon with Omar,

versus best friend real love,

with Amish,

who let me find myself,

and didn’t care if we were eating on Columbus Ave. or rummaging for books at Strand or walking through street fairs in Battery Park.

 

I found my own style with you,

Looking for sneakers in Brooklyn,

To hitting up the village for new belly button rings,

and African scarves,

To trying on expensive dresses and shoes at Saks Fifth Avenue.

 

You led me to foreign films at Lincoln Center,

to art galleries near the piers,

to waiting in line to hear Salman Rushdie or Maya Angelou speak at bookstores in Union Square.

 

You, my love

Who taught me about reality,

With visits to soup kitchens in Harlem.

Reality,

kids crying from no food and babies restless from addiction,

I saw hurt.

In Harlem where you taught me of a history,

of her-story,

of Zora Neal Hurston and opened my heart to writing.

You,

who inspired me to romance my pen,

My first love,

You gave me courage to share,

in Alphabet City, you showed me the Nuyorican poetry slams,

And blew my mind away,

You blew my mind away.

 

In college, you, my love, taught me to love a new vision behind the lens,

with photos of lights tangled in trees in Times Square,

snaps of fathers holding daughters’ hands walking up the stairs of The Met,

eyes of tourists from far away lands at Ellis Island.

 

Click,

I captured hope.

 

My first love,

you empowered me,

Me,

with my student visitor pass to the UN,

feeling small in a big building and big in my own world for being there,

as I listened to changes being made for the world’s women, I felt it inside,

I felt it inside.

 

My love,

It was then for the first time I felt you sting my heart,

you taught me to console my friends who lost their parents and godmothers,

who couldn’t find their sister, or cousin or gay lover.

And you let it happen.

You let my world crumble for a moment,

with ignorance,

with hate slogans and fear,

you made me cry showing me post 9-11 memorials everywhere,

and a heavy feeling,

that won’t pass.

But you showed me strength and I grew to love you more,

and more.

It’s hard now being away from you,

my love,

things are different now.

I don’t see you that often and when I say I love it here,

 my new home,

I feel guilty,

sometimes,

like I’ve left you behind,

like I’ve forgotten where I’ve come from,

who knows me so well.

But I haven’t forgotten,

 and when I see you again,

it rushes back,

Scents and sounds and all of it,

fills me, takes over me.

My first love,

You make my knees weak,

you are my heart,

you give me soul,

and nothing can replace you.

It’s always been just you.

My first love,

New York, NY.

It’s you.