Jiwon's Alcove

The Unbearable Melancholy of the Dead Internet

Some time ago, I stumbled upon a band. They released two albums to little fanfare, then disappeared. I wondered what had happened to its members. They were certainly passionate people. Did their musical dreams blossom at all, under different identities?

I couldn't find out. I felt sad.

I can't even remember the band's name anymore. Does anyone?

The bloggers that I used to read - how are you? Did you get a demanding job? A spouse and a kid? Perchance, a new hobby? I dearly hope you weren't hit by a car or succumbed to Alzheimer's.

The authors and Youtubers and podcasters who won't create anymore. I see your tweets, so I know you're doing alright. Did your interests change, or was it the world that did? Were the pests drawn to your spotlight a little too much?

Do you know that your embarassing creations meant a lot to me?

I wonder if people miss me all the same. My old blog now exits only in memories. Lost from the internet, even the backup gone from a clumsy mistake. I wish I could reach my hundred followers to tell them: I really enjoyed talking to you, writing for you.

If you searched up the blog, mused in the melancholy of loss - I hope you understand that I needed to start anew. As we all do, I have my own circumstances.

In the graveyard of ancients lie a thousand-year-old documents. Yet on the internet that supposedly never forgets, only an abyss of deleted bits.