my identity: always under construction.
i am not anonymous, and i don't want to be. i'm more American than Chinese. i only existed since 2003. i'm nearsighted and righthanded and lost. i'm inv(isabel). i do not intend to scare you on tomorrow's feed or your email inbox. i do not exchange this handle like an eye or an eye, a follower for a following. i do not write to sell my soul like a tennis shoe.1
i believe i should write as if my words run through radio waves, imperceptible except to those who know where to tune in. i do not know of your existence and won't stop to inquire your intentions — unless you prefer to announce your presence in my guestbook.
it's far too possible to find me elsewhere; a couple queries on conventional search engines and i once again become a falsely polished presentation on the white background of a corporate website. but wherever else you find me, this is the only place i remain, invisabel and invisabel and invisabel. i'm here because i believe the handmade web can become a transformative tool for self-expression and identity formation. i'm here because i'm more than the 10-second stories or 10-photo slides of curated moments with snarky one-line captions. i'm here because i'm imperfect, and won't pretend to be otherwise. the internet can be a beautifully flawed place if we make it so.
Image from tumblr.
