I know this is my website. Yet, it feels incredibly awkward to be writing here. In the digital space I created for myself 2 years ago, and have been curating (at a snail's pace, but curating nonetheless) since.
I started something new, not thinking much of it. This site was inconsequential. I allowed myself to be amateurish. There were no stakes involved. There is still nothing at stake.
But like all things I dabble in, an unspoken pressure begins to build up. I begin censoring myself. I become accutely aware of the traces I leave behind. Traces that are so distinctly me. I become enmeshed with the identity I created online and the things I decided to use to represent who I am, in lieu of a physical body.
A substitute for my personhood, which I have found inadequate in truly expressing myself.
My personhood, which is interpreted by strangers in ways which differ from my own. Attempts to correct others are in vain. Instead, I am only met with adamant fussing that I couldn't possibly be anything else other than the concept they have constructed in the first 10 seconds upon meeting me.
This is a place where I can reconcile my sense of self. It is not a performance for others so much as it is a performance for myself.
For as long as I consider my internet presence to be an extension of myself, the desire to emulate myself through pixels on a screen will only persist.
Once I treat it as a separate entity from myself, it is only a matter of time until I neglect it and abandon my projects.
I am already halfway there though.
I think about all the books I could read, all the topics I could research, all the writing and interests I could share.
Then I remember the lack of conviction in my fingers when I type. How my mind wavers from the topic at hand. How the words rearrange themselves in the distance it takes to travel from my head to my hands, rendering themselves incoherent. My sentence structure sounds off and I begin to doubt if English really is my first language. Almost immediately, I resign to something easier than creation - consumption.
Consumption feels safer. I can't mess up consumption. I can't upset someone with my words. I can't accidentally offend someone. I can keep consumption secret. I don't have to attach an author to consumption. I can be invisible. I can be a blank slate. I can please everyone.
I diligently keep pieces of myself separated at arms length, fighting the attractive forces between them all. Fighting the desire to be one person, who is everything all at once, intertwined.
In doing this, I still wonder why I struggle to connect with people. I still wonder why I come off as boring.
This is the trade-off for keeping parts of yourself safe from scrutiny.
The internet is a place to hide parts of myself. To express myself in a different context and release the parts of myself that I have been suppressing. All so that I am more palatable in person.
Ironically, what is supposed to be an unfiltered version of myself must still be maintained.
I can pretend as much as I want that my website is a living reflection of my mind and thoughts, but I am still actively taking the time to curate my words. To consider how I'll be perceived and what kind of message I want to send. It is an intentional choice to express myself on the Internet.
I admire those who are courageous enough to put in countless hours starting, failing, and potentially succeeding at a craft or trade, and having the persistence to go through the same cycle countlessly until they have curated a collection of experiences, knowledge, skills, and tangible work. To me, that feels like proof that someone has lived.
Will I ever be brave enough to stand firm in my creations? My opinions? My failures?
Will I be one of many to let their dreams die with them?
All because I couldn't stop pre-emptively calculating 50 future decisions to be made and recalibrating myself accordingly.
Who needs to worry about being surveilled on the Internet when I impose it onto myself?
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