Almost a Decade in Between Masks

You know... over the last several years—I can’t even remember exactly how many—I’ve mostly stayed hidden. I’ve kept parts of myself offline, even from people I trusted, people I’ve been interacting with for almost ten years now. And, I feel guilty about it. I mean, who wouldn’t? But at the same time, staying hidden also made me keep collecting awkward feelings, mistakes, a jumble of mixed emotions. It’s hard to explain, but it wasn’t simple.

I’ve always been the quiet type, really quiet in certain spaces, and opening up about myself—about who I really am—just wasn’t something I felt ready to do. I wasn’t sure if anyone would understand. And, uh... some of the measures I took online, well, they weren’t exactly “honest,” but they felt necessary.

There was this one period—I honestly don’t remember exactly when—when I started using photos of other people. My main account had one image, and then I made an alt account with a completely different photo, from a different person. I didn’t show anyone’s face fully, obviously, but yeah, it was still lying. At the time, though, it felt like the safest way to exist online. Safer than risking being judged, called out, or targeted.

And then, when someone asked me how I was, I often just said whatever popped into my head. I wasn’t trying to trick anyone for fun. I wasn’t playing games. I was just trying to survive the weird, sometimes harsh pressures of social interaction online. And man, that was exhausting.

I started off small. Vector-style avatars of me. Later, I became a little braver—edited photos with a hoodie and a sponge mask. Eventually, I got to the point where my face was fully visible. Yeah, heavy. Especially because some of these people had been with me—talking, sharing, interacting—for almost a decade. People who used to call each other “brother and sister,” or people I felt like were close to family. And now... now they see me. Really see me.

It changed the tone of how I communicate. I used to be expressive—maybe even too expressive sometimes. Pouring feelings into words in ways I couldn’t in real life. But now... I’m more cautious. Flatter. Cooler. Distant, maybe.

And it wasn’t just about me being cautious for the sake of caution. It was shaped by how people reacted before. Back then, I was called “bot” because I sounded too formal. Some even gave me weird nicknames, like “the owl,” or “Lee Chong-min,” randomly. And yeah... the racial slur “gook” got thrown around too. Mmm, it stings. It lingers. It shapes you, even if you tell yourself it shouldn’t. And, that’s why hiding—being careful, being cautious—felt necessary.

So, guilt. There’s that. But also... I don’t know... recognition, I guess. Recognition that what I did—hiding parts of myself, being cautious, using layers of protection—it was a way to cope, to survive online while still trying to connect. I see now that honesty isn’t always about laying everything bare. Sometimes it’s about surviving in a world that isn’t always kind to the quiet, the different, the ones who can’t always be fully open.

Opening up slowly has its cost. It’s uncomfortable. It stings. And almost a decade of trust, of closeness—and suddenly, people are seeing pieces of me I’ve held back for years. That feels heavy. I worry about being seen as insincere, or worse, losing those connections altogether.

But hiding forever would’ve been worse. That would have just compounded the guilt, the awkward feelings, the ongoing mistakes of my own making. And honestly, I’m still learning. Still figuring out what it means to be honest, to be seen, to keep some part of myself safe while letting other parts out.

Yeah, it’s a little terrifying. And exhausting. But it’s also necessary. I guess that’s just part of being human—or at least, part of being me.