The Ibiza summer report, or how to really feed a poor kid by clicking Like

This year we spent our second holiday ever, in Ibiza. It was awesome and it got us totally excited, which is why we published an Exposure to detail our adventures and – hopefully- equip other travellers with even better info than we had (and we had plenty). The Ibiza: In & Beyond the Party report is here (click the image to go there, it’s an external link):


The Exposure report was somewhat successful in visibility – we had 416 views so far – but only 9 Enjoys, out of which one for sure is mine (and yes, I am ashamed of kissing my own butt so to say). This Enjoy number is important since Exposure, a uniquely honest and up front service for photographers, chooses to feature certain pieces based on it, and if a piece is featured, it is brought forth especially to other Exposure users, amongst which some really great photographers that Sebi has admired for years.  So Enjoying our stories helps us a lot, in two ways: professionally, since Sebi really IS a photographer and needs the… heh, exposure ;), and of course, artistically, since this tells us you like what we do and it intrinsically motivates us to do more of it.

Now, we are a somewhat special case since we primarily do this for ourselves and for the stories that struggle to come out of us; Exposure is the canvas for expressing our combined passion for writing and photography, so we’d do it anyhow. And we often fail, of course, which is why what we really need is honest feedback. If you are one of the 416 viewers and did not Enjoy the dam piece, could you please tell us why?

But straying away from Exposure, where I tried to use a personal story to shed some light on the commercial and emotional impact of clicking a button to show support, I want to talk about how a Like on Facebook, or any other supporting activity on any given social network of today, can really, truly feed a poor kid in some distant country (hint: no one gives any money to anyone for a Like).

It’s simple: interact with valuable content and take an effort to provide feedback to what you think has merit. If you do that, you slowly curate the content that’s exposed to you, and by interacting (actually explaining your support, or lack thereof, occasionally), you might make some really interesting, valuable network of friends.

For instance, Facebook’s Like and Share buttons are often used trivially, frequently clicked without a thorough thought process behind that simple action. But they determine how that content is spread; the more an article is Liked or Shared, the greater your chances to see it and more of it, and this works at a small scale (within your circle of friends) and at a big scale alike. If you consistently Like and Share non valuable content, you are telling Facebook that is what you enjoy to see so that’s the only thing you’ll end up seeing. And your actions don’t only impact you; by these trivial actions, you also decide what your friends see, and these simple, trivial Likes end up defining what’s globally seen as popular. This is how we end up paying more attention to outrageous gossip about famous actors or singers than to wars that are happening now, and that ARE impacting our life, or to extraordinary discoveries, or to freely given, highly valuable lessons.

If we took a moment to curate our trivial social network actions, we could, click by click, Like by Like, turn the eyes of the world towards value and learning and, through our trivial actions, lift up the knowledge, the lessons, the global news, lift them up above the gossip, the implausible facts, the outrageous articles. Should we have a second more to spare, we could participate, and even contribute. And this leads to learning, to knowledge, to education. This leads to inspiring some to take a different path in life, and follow in your footsteps, understanding their impact in curation. We are all curators, and knowledge is power. If you help spread it, if you give it the support it deserves, this is how you can really help feed a poor kid in some distant country.

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