As much as my heart dislikes the thought, I owe much of my upbringing to the internet. During my elementary days, I would find myself caught up in the rabbit hole of Minecraft streamers and Smosh. Much of my conversations with friends at the time revolved around subjects just as nerdy as the previous, such as anime and video-games. It was the internet I thank for leading me to these connections, and through it my lifelong quest for human relationships.
In revisiting these memories, so much joy was found in being able to nerd out without any care for the greater world. From the lunch table conversations to the hushed whispers in the library. Each of these moments had been spent in proximity to somebody who would care to listen. As much as I enjoyed anime and video-games, I never wanted to enjoy these things in solitude.
In fact, I don’t even think it had to be either of the two but simply the mere warmth of people. I liked it when someone would hear me out, even through my fan theories and nonsensical ideas. I liked the sounds they would make when expressing their likes and dislikes. But what I liked most was their stories that were unique to them and more compelling than any film or game. It just happened to be that anime and video-games were a gateway to these stories I loved.
As I grew older, my longing and online interests grew more passionate. Even with the sixth-grade basic technological knowledge I had, I began stumbling upon various online forums and communities. These places held some of my most terrible, embarrassing memories, as much as it was fun and thrilling at the time.
It was not until I developed a crush for a person named E, however, did I begin hiding the parts of myself that I saw as “cringe” or “embarrassing.” Anime was too weird and Asian, and gamers were too awkward and smelly. Despite them having similar interests, I didn’t want E to see me as either of these things. It was only okay for someone else to like anime or video games, but never me.
From my own constructed stage, I began starring as two different characters. The first character was a kind, young and dashing boy. He would wait outside the classroom door, as he waited for his special someone to come by and gently smile. And in that smile, you could see the whole sun in his face. He was kind and warm, someone who would speak with his actions rather than words.
While my other character was a loser. He would prefer to stay at home, secluded from the reality of his breaking family and spending most of his time playing League of Legends. He hardly tried at life, if at all. He was someone I murdered and buried long ago from the world—an embarrassment I could never dare name.
The benefit of the internet is that you can become whatever character you want without any risk to your personal life. You can become different people, stories, and if you are good enough, no one would bat an eye. But in each passing stage of life, my characters slowly became part of who I was until I lost myself.
Even the internet—a place I had sought refuge in was distorted with a fictional being I had created in hopes that I could find someone to understand. In my attempt to be a person I never was, all versions of me had died in the process. Deep down, I knew I was never meant to play the starring role in E’s story. She deserved somebody else—someone that wasn’t me.
By chance, I was fortunate enough to temporarily escape my loneliness, as my parents had wanted to move to an area more affordable. But I could only run so far from my problems before it came right back at me. Eventually, this loneliness grew into fear, and soon enough I was back in the same circle–playing different characters in the distorted safe space I had called the internet. My memories of this time rang dissonant. Nothing beyond the cold, apathy of a phone screen I had stared at for far too long.
It was not until high-school that I truly made an immense, dedicated effort towards rebranding who I was and establishing myself. In pursuit of an all-American high school experience, I joined various school clubs and met all sorts of different people. Many of them had welcomed me despite my shy and awkward personality. I finally thought to myself that I could actually become someone—and somebody.
Slowly, that same piercing dissonance grew into smiles and faces of people whom I would call friends. Although the pandemic put a wall between us, we were able to connect through the same internet I had forged my existence in. The internet no longer became a place where I hid myself in and played silly characters, but a place where I could connect to the people I love within an instant.
Whether it was due to my growing responsibilities or the people in my life, I slowly stopped picking up my phone as often. Video games and anime became a distant past-time I picked up only when I had time during school breaks. But whenever I did, the memories would always come rushing back.
I’d remember playing Persona, watching the characters say their goodbyes and move on with their lives. Or re-watching episodes of One Piece, seeing the Straw Hat Pirates promise their departed friend, Vivi, that they’d return—even if it took fifty, no, a hundred years.
A strange sense of sadness fills my heart. I will never forget what these stories had meant to me back then. They were the light I had through the dark tunnel—a voice in the abyss telling me to live on.
Although I rarely interact with the internet as frequently as I did then, my thanks still remains. It was through the internet that I discovered some of my favorite pastimes, from anime to video games. And it was through the internet that I understood what it means to be so lost and alone, yet also what it means to be loved unconditionally.
My lifelong quest for human relationships never ended, but rather transformed beyond the digital screen into reality. Instead of sending direct messages across the web, I’m laughing—I’m smiling—my arms next to my friends as we frolic at playgrounds nostalgic to us.
To the internet—a place that holds both my most terrible, embarrassing memories and my moments of joy—I write this letter to you.l
Truly, from the bottom of my heart—
Thank you.
