“May I take a picture of your food?”
The couple stared quizzically at Jennifer, but let her take her artsy shot of their food. Minutes later, it turned up on her Instagram account, complete with thought-provoking quote of the day and a geotag, even as she ate a thoroughly boring yet filling meal at the food court next door.
Jennifer hardly found her own life interesting enough to Instagram, so she went around taking pictures of other people’s lives and posted it as her own. It wasn’t that she wanted to lie, no. But she wanted others to see her the way she saw the world – an abundant palace of possibilities, fettered only by the limitations of one’s mind.
But nobody would see her that way. Who would find a librarian interesting? Would you want pictures of endless catalogues of musty books that nobody read? Friends were difficult for Jennifer to make, because her submissive, bland personality made for incredibly one-sided conversations – sides that were rarely hers.
Yet Jennifer had a mind that could grasp the infinity of creation and the wonder of life. It’s just that she couldn’t put it into practice.
So as she took pictures of picnics at Sentosa, lattes at hipster cafes, and couples at shophouses, her Instagram followers swelled. As her numbers grew, so did her confidence. She began to think better of herself, and once, by accident, her arm came into the carefully filtered frame of a salted caramel waffle with honey egg yolk ice cream.
It went viral.
The Internet does not like anonymity, and lapped up clues to her identity. Jennifer soon began posting random body parts, all PG13 of course, that might or might not be hers in photos. Nobody would know otherwise. Because nobody knew Jennifer.
Even as she #latergrammed a picture of her someone’s poached eggs with hollandaise with wild rocket. Far more interesting than the Dewey Decimal System, for sure.
Then one day, she found someone. A sapiosexual like herself.
@sapioshakespeare42
So many hipster references within a single username. Who was he?
She followed him (she rarely followed others, basking in the adoration that came with a high follower-following ratio) and Liked all the pictures that followed. His low-angled shots of flora, picturesque snaps of the marshmallow clouds, and macros of miniscule roadside objects took her breath away.
He was a carpenter, a gardener, and a scribe. He was a craftsman in every sense of the word, and she could not Google any other instance of @sapioshakespeare42.
And then the day came when he followed back, and started Liking all of her photos.
It was bliss. Jennifer had finally found her soulmate. Through mutual comments she found out that he was Jenson (so close to her name!) and they shared so many hobbies!
Except those weren’t really her hobbies. Jennifer bit her lip as she entertained the prospect of a meetup. How would she explain that she hadn’t really tried truffle fries seasoned with caviar? Or that more than one shot of caffeine kept her awake all night? Worst of all, that she didn’t actually read the books that she “bought” (why would a librarian need to)?
But he would understand. He would love her for her mind, her beautiful mind, and their sapoisexuality would embrace each other’s wit and humour.
It was with trepidation that she agreed to meet at the Garden Arabica – a fusion of their mutual loves of botany and coffee. She could take some caffeine. Staying awake all night was a small price to pay for meeting the love of her life.
She never put on lipstick. But today she carefully drew her eyes. Her best sun dress, adorned with flowers. A carefully chosen book (with call number peeled off) in her leather satchel (that she had saved for this very occasion). And finally, a dab of perfume. She was ready.
I’m here, she messaged. She entered the crowded cafe, and saw the only table with one patron.
He was a midget, his legs swinging playfully above the ground. His little hands could hardly hold a hammer or a spade. Worst of all, he dressed in such bright, gaudy colours that she could hardly believe him to be the hipster she so desired.
Was this @sapioshakespeare42? Was he truly the man of such literary merit that she had been willing to sacrifice a precious night of sleep for? Was that how he managed to take all those low angle shots, because that’s all he could take?
Wait. He hadn’t spotted her. He wouldn’t recognise her, not from her photos. Perhaps there was a way out yet. She could text, say that she suddenly felt unwell, imply it was menses-related, men never questioned a woman’s –
Ding.
She received a message.
I’ve got to go. I’m sorry. I don’t think we can meet.
Jennifer looked up, and saw the midget’s father carry him up in his arms, bringing his son to their wife. The mother kissed the little boy on the forehead, then led the child out as they left a vacant table.
“Table for how many?”
Jennifer held up a finger, and the server swiftly ushered her to the empty table, before moving on to next table.
So that wasn’t him. That wasn’t @sapioshakespeare42. Then… who was? Was he still here? She checked her Instagram feed. A picture appeared. A menu. A cup. A cake. Two forks. Two? Who was sharing a coffee and cake with her @sapioshakespeare42?
“I’m not paying up until you share some of my cake.”
She turned around. The waitress was sitting at the table next to hers. Opposite her, was a man, with a cup, a cake, and two forks.
“I was supposed to meet someone today, until I saw you. I can’t really drink coffee, keeps me up all night. But I think it’s worth it if you’ll have your break with me.”
Jennifer sighed. This had been a colossal waste of time. He wasn’t a sapiosexual, he was some sort of smooth talking pervert. So much for coffee. Maybe she could Instagram someone’s food. What was Garden Arabica known for? Their New York cheesecake? How passe. But a well-framed shot could bring more taste to a cake than any amount of sugar. At least this outing was salvageable. She could take it as one of her solo coffee jaunts. Take some pictures of someone else’s life. Anything was more interesting than her own.
“Is this seat taken? Can we share the table?”
Jennifer looked up.
Maybe her life would be interesting, for once.
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