Right. So, here goes.
I have had trolls on my mind a lot this week. I’ve learnt to roll with them, laugh at them and move beyond them. It is part and parcel of being who I am, doing what I do. Even The Oatmeal knows it to be true.
The thing of it is though…I’ll use an analogy.
We all live on bridges. Sometimes we cross other people’s bridges, make ourselves at home on their couches, and share dinners over cornerstones. Our lives are those bridges and where they intersect, we find our friendships.
I define life in this way, purely because it’s a rather succinct way of explaining how people can take different paths in life, and sometimes you cross one bridge and never go back. Some, you cross quite often and are rather well-acquainted with its cobblestones.
Here’s the clincher though – every bridge has a troll. Here’s a general idea of how I imagine mine:
Now, I’ve had my fair share of trolls in the long time I’ve been sitting here, writing. In my years of being actively involved in sharing on the internet, I have had a lot of surprise trolls. There are some lovely ones smattered over the internet…like the guy who thinks I need an education but he has no idea how to correctly use punctuation or the difference between a singular and plural form. I’ve had a guy throw acid over the internet at me, because I was a single mom. No, really, he also saw fit to email me and tell me I was responsible for the “dejeneration of South Africans’ society”. I quote, verbatim. It’s nice to know that I’m wholly responsible for laying waste to our society at large but, really, I wish I could have that power to give everyone across the world a good education. My favourite troll ever told me that I am “such a kak riter”. Yeah, of course, that one burnt me to my very core *sarcasm*
(//sidenote here – I have not linked to any of the “trolleys”, as I like to call them because I do subscribe to the rule that “we don’t feed the trolls”. Also, trolls’ posts are called “trolleys” because they are about as pleasant as having a trolley driven over your feet in the supermarket but, you have to keep shopping…that’s the key to surviving them).
Then, there’s real life trolls. I’ve had my full of them and so have some of my very dear friends and some of the people who live in my heart. Those little idiots come out of nowhere, and ruin your day/week/year. At seven, some troll called me fat. At eighteen, my then-boyfriend *who is the biggest troll that ever lived!*, told me I’d “never amount to anything so you better be nice to me because I’ll have to take care of you”. Yes, really, he did that. I really did take great joy in breaking up with him, shortly thereafter. Let’s not forget the guy who stopped me in Checkers once and told me I was “uglier in real life” after seeing me in a magazine.
My point is…you live on a bridge. Every bridge has a troll.
DO NOT. Ever. Let the troll topple your bridge.
Your bridge was crafted and maintained by YOU. A troll has NO idea what it took to make it and has NO right to comment on your workmanship or decor. They have ZERO capability of being you, and the only reason why they are responding, in any way, to the way your bridge looks and works, is because they have to live under a bridge, and have absolutely no clue how to build their own.
You never need to respond to a troll…You don’t even need to acknowledge them. They will find other bridges to pop out from under, and they will carry on picking their nose and eating it for as long as someone out there keeps responding.
I know that when a trolls pop out a blurt into your life, it can be hurtful, mean and debilitating. I want you to not let it be. I want you to know that your bridge, your cornerstone and your life, are the handicraft of a skilled, clever and imaginative person, who knows what is right for YOUR life. Remember that, always.
I survive the trolleys by laughing at them. In most cases, there are aspects of the trolleys that you can laugh at. Find it, laugh at it and keep moving.
Because, darling friends who live in my computer and my life…your bridges are beautiful.