Friends-
I’ve thought long and hard about whether to write this at all.
After all, we’ve all accepted that the internet is a part of our life. But the thing is, I’m not sure if we ever had the choice. The internet, just dropped by our house one day.
And never left.
If I could summarize my 30-year interaction with the internet …
It’ll likely sound something like this:
[A stranger blew down my door. Uninvited.]
Stranger: Hey there. I’m Internet.
Thalia: Um, OK? And why are you here?
Stranger: I’m here for no reason at all. Someone just thought it would be great to be able to do things like books and papers could—without books and papers.
Thalia: What do you mean?
[The cunning stranger started to present me with all its powers. It turned salesmanship into sleight of hand. Besides, if everyone welcomed Internet—how bad could it be?]
[30 years later … ]
Thalia: I really need to sleep now.
Internet: Well, since you’ve taken me everywhere, by your hip, in your purse, next to you in the car, in your clothes, in the bathroom, and most days on the dinner table—I’ll just help myself with your bed.
I’m going to stop the story right here. Because I think you already know where I’m going.
The Internet had invaded my house.
And I suspect your house, too. So much so that we no longer mind it.
At the front door:
It plays the role of a watch guard. And it boasts a doorbell camera as an arsenal. Except apparently, it’s a double agent. Because Google is its warlord. And it knows all our secrets.
In the kitchen:
It morphs into part master chef, part merchant. By showing us world delicacies. And vending future tech with one tap.
In the dining room:
It claims the title of Court Jester. Playing tunes at our command. Entertaining at our beckoning.
The living room …
… is where it solidifies its position as Ultimate Counsel. Volumes of encyclopedias are no match for its speed and might. On our favorite seat in the house, we’d rather have alone time with it, than many pages of anything.
Then, the private baths.
If anything is as telling, it is our ghostly comfort bringing the internet into areas where even our loved ones are often forbidden. Because once this happens …
In the bedroom:
The union is forever sealed. We’d stay up to wait for the internet. To hear what it has to say. To listen to all its devastation. And all its joys. We’d long to take our own troubles there. To be rid of them. And to find something—anything—that would make us laugh. So that we could forget. So that we can replace everything. With whatever the internet uncovered. As it wanders the world. All the while never leaving our side.
It would seem that with this live-in partner, that I should be in love with the steadfastness of the Internet.
If the adage “Home is wherever your loved ones are” is true—then judging by function of “time-spent” alone—
The Internet really should be our home.
Except we all know it isn’t.
Ever since I left my ancestral homeland near the super volcanic regions of Sumatra—I knew that home is more than just a place where we spent most of our time.
It is a sacred place.
It is where you raise human beings that you aren’t always strong enough to raise.
It is where hopes turn to loss, which then turns into hope again.
It is where bodily ailments become peace within pain.
And if I could rewind to …
When the Internet first arrived at my door, I would do three things differently.
1
I would ask it to take off its shoes.
Not only is that the custom of respect where I grew up. A mark that whoever enters—are equals.
It’s also because I have no idea where the Internet has been. And when it has been all over the world, stealing things—the near-extinct Sumatran Tiger in me would insist on the shoes … off.
Because the safety of my children in the house simply must come first.
2
I would ask for the Internet to unclench.
Not that I demand people to bring things to my house. But what we bring with us, what we hide up our sleeves, and what we grew up with—is where we begin to know the person.
I’ve had the Internet in the house for decades now.
And I STILL haven’t the slightest clue about its underbelly.
3
I would ask if it would observe regular visiting hours.
And I would require an agreement. The Internet is very good at dodging questions. Giving hundreds of answers when they amount to non-answers. And even remaining mum to best protect its sleuth.
But I know better now.
And if it says no to any of my requirements, I would show them the door.
My house is only for the things I would miss.
And so far, I’ve never missed the internet. I’ve felt a certain uneasiness before, being apart from it. A sense that I’ve forgotten to do something. But that’s not the same as missing something.
Which is a kind of longing.
When we miss someone, we can feel the absence of a full being.
We can remember what they would’ve drawn when they sat alone in the tree house. The way they cried when they accidentally kicked a ball and broke the neighbors’ window. The eyebrow lift they always do when they don’t like a particular food. The exhale that comes after they watch a good movie. The head tilt when they’re tired.
A full being has the same feeling of a cozy house. Strong in some places. Weak in others. Better yet, they would have the ability to become … a home.
The Internet, no matter how hard it tries—simply cannot do this. It will remain faceless despite its many faces.
After all these years, I’d like to thank the Internet for one thing.
I thank the internet, for showing me that:
My door … is both for opening. And closing.
-Thalia
PS:
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Grateful for your support. I appreciate you!
-Thalia
“My door … is both for opening. And closing.”
Wow - what a powerful ending.
Thalia, thank you for your wisdom over this. I tend to say it's a good task nad bad task-mater: you've said it so much more beautifully.