Strangers. The word no longer inspires a dreaded fear as it once did when your parents would look carefully into your eye and slowly instruct you not to talk to them in that utterly protective voice.

Sorry, mom. I’ve spoken to dozens of strangers by now, most of whom I’ve never even heard speak and probably never will. But we’ve spoken a new language, the language of the future. It’s more of a visual than vocal experience. I can’t listen, but I can read. I can sense if they’re melancholic or plain sad by the number of periods of ellipsis they use at the end of each thought. I can instantly perceive excitement by the size of their letters and the amount of punctuation marks concluding their short outbursts. This can also express anger or rage, and that I deduce by their use of diction. Sometimes they don’t even have to say anything. Their thoughts, their views, their beliefs are literally linked to someone else’s work. Sometimes, other people’s thoughts are worthy enough to be repeated exactly so as not to corrupt its meaning or originality.

This language is no stranger to me as it is to you. You hear me typing away, the gentle keys submerging and emerging as I make up my mind, yet there is no sound of laughter, of debate, of concern. I can promise you it is all there in the form of characters we were trained to decipher. Most importantly, it is all there because it stems from a stranger, a being who because of some element will most likely never physically cross paths with me but who may have already changed it indefinitely.



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