I sometimes miss the internet before it felt like a stage. Not because it was perfect. It wasn’t.
The internet has always had its strange corners, awkward moments, and questionable decisions. But I miss the version of it where most of us weren’t thinking about an audience. We weren’t building personal brands. We weren’t trying to optimise engagement. We weren’t wondering whether a post would perform well. We were simply sharing pieces of our lives.
I remember decorating blogskins for hours. Choosing the perfect background music. Writing long blog entries that probably nobody reads today. Changing MSN display names every other week because somehow those tiny words felt incredibly important. Uploading blurry photographs that would never survive today’s standards.
None of it looked polished. None of it was strategic. And somehow, that’s exactly what made it feel real.
Back then, posting something online wasn’t usually followed by checking how many people liked it. We shared because we wanted to remember. We shared because our friends might smile. We shared because something funny happened at school. Or because we had discovered a new song we couldn’t stop listening to.
The internet felt less like a performance. And more like a conversation. Looking back, I don’t think we realised how quietly that changed.
There wasn’t one particular day when everything became curated. It happened gradually. Filters became better. Algorithms became smarter. Followers became numbers people compared. Likes became a form of validation. Content became a career.
None of those things are inherently bad. In fact, I’m writing this as someone who creates content. Someone who hopes people will read these stories. Someone who believes the internet has made it possible to build meaningful communities across the world.
I’m grateful for that.
Without today’s internet, Ummilennial Scrapbook probably wouldn’t exist. Neither would many of the friendships and opportunities I’ve found over the years. But I do think we’ve lost something along the way.
Somewhere between documenting our lives and broadcasting them, many of us became more aware of being watched. We started asking ourselves questions we never used to ask.
- Will people like this?
- Does this fit my feed?
- Should I post this?
- Would this get enough engagement?
Even ordinary moments quietly became content. Sometimes I wonder what would happen if we returned, even just for a little while, to posting the way we used to. Not carelessly. Not thoughtlessly. Just… honestly.
Sharing because something mattered to us. Not because an algorithm might reward it. Perhaps that’s one of the reasons I started writing Ummilennial Scrapbook.
These essays aren’t written because they’re trending. Most of them probably never will. They’re written because I want to remember. I want to capture the thoughts that arrive on ordinary afternoons. The conversations that quietly change the way I see the world. The small moments that might otherwise disappear into the busyness of life.
If someone else finds themselves in these stories, I’m grateful. If they don’t, I’m still glad I wrote them. Maybe that’s the internet I miss most. Not slower technology. Not old websites. Not dial-up connections.
I miss the feeling that sharing something online didn’t always have to become a performance. Sometimes it was simply a way of saying,
“I was here.”
“This mattered to me.”
“And I wanted to remember.”
Perhaps that’s still enough. If we let it be.
Ummi Noi