Lance Calasang, The Social Butterfly

By Mikael Rizada-Borres

Fellow Canadian Paul Bloom, a world-renowned academic in the field of psychology, hit the nail on the head when he once said that humans are “social beings, and we are happier, and better, when connected to others.”

In the case of Lance Calasang, he is not just a mere social being. He is a social butterfly. He soars high whenever he feels the solace and delirium from the friendships he forged throughout his life. Those relationships produce the nectar that keeps him quipping out his critic-style humour and lightening up the conversations he is in.

“So I really treat them [my friends] as a very important part of my life,” said Lance. “I don’t know if it’s a positive or negative thing, but mu-seek jud ko ug friendship [I really seek friendship] and hanging out and socializing.”

Understanding this notion that Lance is this social butterfly, the coronavirus must have been the lepidopterarium (butterfly house) that kept him restricted for almost two years. When the pandemic rolled into the Philippines in early 2020, his plans to create or strengthen bonds got wrecked by the stringent lockdown policies imposed by the country’s national government. Lance Calasang became confined to his house, only allowed to hover around the kitchen and bedrooms he already knew about.

The pandemic compelled Lance to seek alternatives that could be the temporary replacement of the lost solace and delirium he once felt. “And I went online,” he said. “Kana ju’ng [Especially] Instagram, I was a very ‘social person.’ Like, I was active on Instagram, Twitter, Facebook.”

Hence, Lance glided into his “social media era,” inspired by the Instagram influencers whose raison d'etre was to show that they could access the grandest privileges and have the rosiest experience life can offer. At the same time that he was watching Instagram Reels and TikToks of other butterflies fluttering in getaways he could only fantasize about in his daydreams, he began to envy them and wonder whether he could also live with luxury. “In social media, you see other people living their lives. And, of course, I’m not going to say that it’s for everybody, but on my end, I get very, ‘I want it too!’” Lance explained.

I asked Lance to send in pictures the team can use for the website and promotional materials for his piece. Lots of photos of him with cake and bubble tea.

Anyway, here’s Lance with some bubble tea.

“Like, ‘Hala, why is your life not like that?’ Inana bitaw na [It’s kind of like] you start to hate where you are now because it’s not the same as what you see on social media,” where people are “travelling the world” and “achieving their dreams.”

Lance yearned to follow suit, hoping that he could emulate the influencers. He wanted to show others that the world of Lance Calasang is bigger than Dapitan, the small city he calls home. He wanted to show others that the world of Lance Calasang is as sweet as the café drinks and cakes he poses with as props on some of his Instagram posts.

During his self-dubbed “social media era,” Lance possessed an obsession with his online presence.  He kept at least one eye open to see whether his Instagram follower count ticked up, agonized whether he befriended enough Twitter strangers, and posted “every single thing” he did on his Facebook My Day stories. He exploited social media to elicit adoration from those who followed him online.

Lance Calasang was, in his own words, “vain.”

“I was a very vain person. I was looking for validation,” Lance admitted. “I was feeding off of it [the praise of others]. I wanted people to compliment me. I wanted people to see how ‘great’ my life is.”

He then ventured deeper into the apps on his phone by making friends with strangers who had no previous connections with – but somehow got to link up with him – in an attempt to bring back a sense of social warmth that he used to feel before the pandemic. He recalled how members of his digital friend circles would often clash, fueled by pettiness and sensationalism. “There was a huge fight that happened. There were some words that were spoken,” said Lance, who then rattled his head and widened his eyes to convey how shocked he was with the scope of the argument. 

He seemed coy about sharing details of the “issues” these circles revolved around, and he could not remember many parts of the feuds. All he could say was that the constant quarrels and fall-outs made him ask this question to himself: “How did I get involved in this?”

In retrospect, “toxic” would be the word Lance would now use to describe his period of vanity. He failed to notice back then how damaging it was to live within and through that time. His backlog of work formed into hills, and his urges to share yet another picture of himself fogged his psyche. His egotism reigned supreme; he became incognizant of what should have mattered to him. “I was overwhelmed with everything. I was so caught up in it that I didn’t realize what was happening until it was too late.”

Something Lance regrets not realizing was that one of the chilling costs of gaining more digital friends and receiving applause online was the loss of his privacy. “I remember going to a bar, and [a stranger] took a picture of me,” said Lance. In some of those instances of people taking a snapshot of him, they would send a message to Lance with a picture of him. They would then ask him if the person in the photo was him. “What am I supposed to say?!” Lance asked while rubbing his temple with the tip of his fingers and then covering his face with his hands. “I really felt violated in terms of privacy.”

Lance said this happened to him at least five times, if not more. “Gosh, I can still pull the receipts,” he uttered in frustration.

When people started taking pictures of Lance and sending him texts, he would be startled but then reply to the stranger with a laugh and confirm that it was him. However, as more snaps of him were shot and more texts to him were sent, he started making blunter requests to these strangers, demanding them to stop their invasion of his privacy.

When asked why random strangers took pictures of him, all Lance could let out at first was a disappointed-and-disgusted-sounding “I don’t know.”

“I think it’s because [...] I try to put myself out on social media all the time, and they feel like it’s OK to do this,” he continued. “I think what led to their perception of it being OK was how open I was on social media. They were like, ‘OK ra uy kay gina-post na niya na naa siya dinhi [It’s OK because Lance already posted that he’s here].”

Here’s Lance with more food. This time — he’s with some cake.

During the second semester of Lance’s first college year, when his “social media era” was reaching its cruel apex (the hills became mountains and the fog got thicker), the social butterfly seemed like he put himself into a worse situation than imagined and expected. His endeavour to leave the loneliness and boredom within his pandemic lepidopterarium led him to getting trapped in an enclosure of conceit, distractions, and encroachment. “It was a really bad era for me,” Lance lamented, further noting how his well-being and mental health were declining and at an impasse, if not disarray.

The epiphany that came to Lance at what came to be the near end of his “social media era” pushed him to fly away from the virtual hullabaloo that was once the source of his deep satisfaction. But at the same instance, he knew that it would be a challenge to his resolve. He said: “I would say that it was not an easy change. I would always say that change doesn’t happen overnight.” His path towards being free from the enclosure called social media would be laborious and painful. His digital persona and the work he put into it “became such a big part of my life where it shouldn’t have,” he said. 

In the summer of 2022, he began to make his accounts private, then deleted the apps from his phone. He eventually rearranged the organization of his phone to prevent temptations from lurking back into repeating the old habits. At the time of the interview (September 4th, 2022), Lance said he is now only on Facebook and Messenger for academic and extracurricular obligations (although he installed Instagram again to join in on the NGL.link craze, as well as use his Facebook to share posts and updates his My Day stories). He also mentioned that he cut off any connections he had with the friends he met on Twitter and Instagram. 

“Yeah, I don’t know if other people notice me not being on social media. Main character vibes. I’m pretending that the internet has not been the same without me,” Lance joked.

Although the difficulty to disengage persisted, remembering how he felt urges to restart the “social media era,” Lance began to escape from what was plaguing him – and it became clear that there was more to life than he once expected. “I realized that the day is very long,” said Lance. “I would lie down, around maybe 2 p.m, and I would look around the room and say, ‘What am I gonna do now?’”

He then sought guidance from YouTube, where he would discover influences that altered his outlook on how he spends the day that now seems long to him. And what fluttered his wings the most were the videos that explained and exemplified how one can practice the art of “romanticism.”

As New York Times’ Christina Caron writes, “romanticizing your life” is all about appreciating “what we have right in front of us and to live with intention, no matter how mundane our daily rituals might be — a reminder to look for moments of beauty and embrace minimalism.”

The romanticism videos that Lance fawns over now have similarities with the “showcase-the-best-moments” content he watched in that both encourage life through rose-tinted lenses. However, what makes sets the former kind of video apart from the latter is that “romanticism,” albeit still encouraging the viewing public to showcase their lives through rose-tinted lenses, has everything to do with making the most of what one has and access instead of only exhibiting the best parts of someone’s life. 

Through romanticism, Lance does not need to jet off to the beaches of Ibiza to see the sunset kiss the sea in the afternoon; he can just walk a few minutes to Dapitan’s coastline to observe the same phenomenon or even just stay at home and find satisfaction in organizing his room and studying. Through romanticism, Lance does not need to be in love with someone to hop around cafés; he can just take himself on a “date” to enjoy the same places. Through romanticism, Lance loses the need to receive validation and appreciation from others; he can get all that from himself.

Although this “YouTuber era” he embarked on in the summer of 2022 (he proclaims it his “YouTuber era,” although he is not a YouTuber himself as he solely gets inspired by the content creators whose videos he watches) involves fewer people for Lance to converse and be amused with  — as Lance chucked out the surface-level relationships he found online to focus on the real friendships and now pays no mind if not many people are around him — it’s certainly “lighter. It’s not as heavy as my ‘social media era,’” Lance described. 

“I swear, my ‘YouTube era’ is nice. They might say that it’s very 2016 [...] They might say that, pero [but] it’s actually very therapeutic.”

As of the day of our conversation, Lance is elated with how things ended up. He’s got genuine hometown confidants and university friends who give him the solace and delirium he longed for throughout the pandemic. He takes himself out on dates every Sunday, and he’s OK if he’s alone. Sure, it may be a bonus to have his friends go around with him, but exploring his city and beyond by himself is getting more comfortable for him. And for him… my God, it probably feels fucking great.

“I’m romanticizing my life. I’m living my YouTube lifestyle vlogger era.”

The social butterfly is soaring high yet again.

Lance and Mikael conducted the interview through Zoom on Sunday, September 4th, 2022.

Recommended Song: Butterfly (Classic Bossa Nova) - Mariah Carey & DJ Grego