Where I was born, I learned to fish with a very special net.
It was my digital net, cast into a virtual sea.
Ten years learning, fishing, sometimes even teaching,
enough stories to fill a small boat.
Then I realized I had been living on an island.
So I took my little boat and rowed far across that sea.
I found a massive continent,
analog and real, sometimes surreal.
My boat made no sense in all that land.
So I kept walking, looking for people
to tell my stories to,
but no one understood the way I fished.
I walked until I found a river, ready to show them.
But my digital net didn’t work there,
no electricity in sight.
I didn’t eat for a while.
I got thinner.
And I learned.
I learned to eat fruit.
And maybe that’s how I grew,
switching nets, switching worlds,
combing someone else’s hair on a rocky floor.
