Michael Sun

Let me tell you a story.

This story begins in the summer of 2008.

It's one of those scorching summers where everything stops and time itself seems suspended.

I'm 11 and sitting in front of the computer for days on end, melting into my chair.

Somehow my dad has found this website that he claims is this cool new virtual reality experience, and I'm 11, which means I still trust my dad.

So I hop on this site, right?

It's called Exit Reality, which is exactly what I want to do because it's 42 degrees outside and there's no air con in our apartment.

If you know what second life is, it's kind of like that.

You can make your own avatars in the most rudimentary 3D graphics I have ever seen in my life.

And then supposedly you can meet with and talk to other avatars in this endless expanse of digital landscape engulfed in a permanent sunset.

But because it is 2008, everything freaks out when you press any button.

And the lag is enough to give anyone anxiety.

I mean, I already had anxiety as an 11-year-old, so it made me want to literally die.

But I persevere, even though there's nary a soul in sight.

I key-smash my way through pixelated deserts and abandoned streets, and then...

in the corner of my screen, something appears.

Someone appears.

Their avatar is wearing a leather jacket and a mohawk, so I approach them, and I'm like, hey, nice mohawk.

Once again, I'm 11, so please withhold your judgment.

I'm begging you.