Why I Don’t Post My Travel Photos on WeChat Moments Anymore

A friend called and asked why I hadn’t posted anything on Douyin after National Day. He said he was waiting to see the photos. I was at my computer, revising a Zhihu answer. A little dust sat on the keyboard cover. I told him I had put a few in my album. If he wanted, I would send them privately. He laughed. “You’re so low-key now.” I said it wasn’t about being low-key. I just couldn’t bring myself to post.

After we hung up, I opened my phone album. More than three hundred photos from National Day. I deleted until forty were left. Deleted again, until nine were left. Six of the nine were the same cloud. I put the phone face down on the desk and went to boil water. While the kettle heated, a question stayed with me: Do you have to post on WeChat Moments when you travel?

No. But the urge to share is real. WeChat Moments is real too. When they collide, things get messy.

WeChat Moments is not a living room. In a living room, you sit with people you invited. In Moments, there are bosses, colleagues, clients, relatives, old classmates, and people you met once. You post a snow mountain. Your boss sees “so you have time to travel.” Your colleague sees “the project isn’t busy.” Your relatives see “must have money.” Your friends see “nice photo.” You post seafood. Someone calculates the price. You post “finally out.” Someone checks how many days off you took. You post a selfie. Someone asks if you lost weight. You cannot say the same thing to everyone.

Some people use groups. Grouping is adult courtesy. In practice, it feels like doing HR in your contacts list. This group cannot see it. That group can. Miss one person, and it is more awkward than not posting. I tried once. After posting, I realized I had put my cousin in the “colleagues” group. She called and asked if I was treating her like an outsider. After that, I rarely posted travel photos on Moments.

Early hiking was different. WeChat was not widespread, so I used QQ. Qzone felt like a courtyard. Most people who came were hikers. We were not in the same workplace or city. Some of us did not even use real names. Lao Zhou was into photography. Every time I posted photos, he picked three. He said which was well composed and which was overexposed. I told him I would try his suggestions next time. He posted albums. I looked, saved photos with me in them, and saved mountains I liked. I liked and thanked him. Back and forth, a trip felt finished.

Back then I wanted to share. I posted many photos after a trip. When I had the energy, I wrote a travelogue. One year I hiked Wugong Mountain. I wrote three thousand words and posted twenty pictures. Hiking friends left more than eighty comments. Some asked about trail conditions. Some asked about gear. Some suggested going together next time. Later an outdoor forum reposted the travelogue and featured it. A private message arrived: “I saw your photos, and I went to Wugong Mountain too.” I stared at that message for a long time. WeChat Moments cannot give me that.

My Qzone album has tens of thousands of photos. My journal has hundreds of essays and notes. Once my hard drive died. It took two days to recover the data. Among the recovered photos was one from a morning in Yubeng. I wore a shell jacket. My hair was messy. My face was red from the sun. Behind me was Meili Snow Mountain. I stared at that photo and remembered shivering that morning. I remembered Lao Li, who shared a room, pouring his hot water for me. Later Lao Li got sick and stopped hiking. We sometimes talk on WeChat. Last time he sent a photo of flowers on his balcony. He said now he could only look at flowers. I told him the flowers looked good. These things are not in Moments. They are too long, and too heavy.

Recording became a habit. I left the three-point-one-line routine. I went into the mountains. I got rained on. I sat in the sun. I looked at stars. Photos were the first record. Words were the second. They sat in QQ, quiet. Sometimes I flipped through them, like old ledgers. Those words show me learning how to pitch a tent, read clouds for weather, and find camp before dark. They also show me moving from feeling like I was drifting through life to accepting that I am ordinary. Ordinary people can have mountains they love, friends who walk the same path, and the urge to get up in the middle of the night to look at stars.

Later I used WeChat. Occasionally I posted on Moments. Mostly work, logistics, forwarded notices. Once I came back from Qinghai and posted a nine-grid collage. Ten minutes later, my mother called. She asked if I had lost weight, if I had not been eating well. A colleague messaged me for the driver’s number. A classmate I had not contacted in ages asked me to write him a travel guide. I turned off my phone and took a shower. When I came out, my boss had liked the post. I deleted it.

Other people were not the problem. The setting was. A nine-grid collage cannot hold Qinghai. It cannot hold me. For me, the mood had not run out. For friends, it might not be interesting. Scrolling past it felt like chewing wax.

Last year I started using Zhihu and writing answers. No one there asks, “Why didn’t you post on Moments?” Someone asks, “What should I pay attention to when traveling alone?” I write three thousand words. Someone asks, “How do I hike Wugong Mountain?” I post the route. Someone asks, “Can travel change a person?” I write about pitching a tent in the rain. People thank me in the comments. Some say they followed my route and it was good. I get likes. I get disagreements. Someone corrects the time for a section of trail. I check it and change it. That place feels like a big classroom. It is unfamiliar, but we learn from each other. After a year of writing, my biggest weakness is knowing too little and writing blandly. My biggest takeaway is simple: start writing, and do not be too hard on yourself.

The Zhizhi Plan requires choosing a vertical field. I chose travel. Landscape photography, local customs, and travel experiences all work. I used to worry about not knowing what to write. Now there are more questions than I can answer. My energy is limited, so Douyin gets neglected. A few days ago a friend called. He asked why I had not posted on Douyin after National Day. He said he was waiting to enjoy the photos. I told him I had been writing on Zhihu. He said, “Then send me a few.” I sent him nine privately. He replied, “The third one is good.” I said, “I like that one too.” He said, “Next time let’s go together.” I said, “Okay.”

There is no rule that says you have to post on WeChat Moments when you travel. You can. You do not have to.

The test is simple. After posting, do you feel happier or more tired? If you feel seen and answered, post. If you worry about what someone will think, if you have to group people and explain, then do not. If a friend asks, send a few privately. If like-minded people want to talk, go to the comments. If you want to record it for yourself, write it in a document. Energy is limited. Platforms have to be chosen.

I set the photo of that cloud as my wallpaper. Then I shut down the computer and went to the kitchen. The water was boiling, so I made instant noodles. My phone lit up. My friend sent a photo of the sea. I zoomed in and replied, “This one’s good.” He replied, “Next time together.” I carried the noodles to the table. Outside, it was dark. Tomorrow I still have to go to work.