We met in London again in the summer, and made a journey to beautiful Cornwall. It was then that I realized this something was, in fact, a relationship. And how — despite parting ways once again, flying to opposite sides of the world, and resuming our romance on GMail, Skype, WhatsApp, and Twitter — I was the happiest I’d ever been.
Since the day I got married, I’ve changed my name on various profiles online and begun to sign my new name on documents and checks. As I mentioned in my last post, changing my name is a big step, and because I sit in front of a computer screen for most of the day, with my various profiles staring back at me, I’m constantly reminded of this change.
But I no longer have to rely on looking outward, into a sea of pixels, to sustain this particular relationship in my life. It’s interesting to feel this layer of my Internet now inside my home, absorbing into me, into him, into us. Two planes initially distinct, merging over the course of a year-and-a-half, now intertwining.
In between these meetings, we’ve created a space for us, just us, online: a portal through which that flow sustains. A borderless space that transcends geography, that exists somewhere only we can access.
Circa 1997 “Do you want some of my water?” a girl with pigtails asks as she hands me her water bottle. A green glow stick floats vertically inside it. “Sure,” I say. She compliments me on my sneakers as I gulp. “Who did you come with?” she asks. The music builds. It gets louder. I move in closer, yelling in her ear. “Oh, my friends. They’re somewhere outside,” I say, pointing to the opening in the wall. “Wanna come with me to find them?” She takes the lollipop out of her mouth,… Read More