This was the very first time I had an electronic device of my own. Listening to the same 100 songs in the corner of my room or the backseat of the car made me feel like I was in my own secret hideout.
I was the only one in the room without a MacBook. The guy sitting in front of me slid his finger on the keyboard from the letter “a” all the way to “l” to unlock his laptop on the flat Apple keyboard. I still remember the shock I felt from witnessing such a novel way of setting a password.
I always carried a strong image of my roommate engraved in my head, studying late at night, sitting in front of her desk, wearing wired earphones, typing away on her Thinkpad and feeling so soothed by the click clack of her keyboard.
Recently, I removed my phone case because I wanted to remember that my phone, a valued portal to the noise of everyday life, is just a piece of metal.
Every time I am online, I wish to remember the wires underground, weaving through their own traffic of data to sustain my digital self.