Why I Choose to Live Without WiFi
When friends come to my apartment, they often ask for the WiFi password. Most are baffled by my response: “I’m very sorry, but I don’t have any WiFi.”
One of my earliest memories with my dad — I was probably five or six years old — was him loading up Disney.com on Netscape Navigator to show me stills from my favorite movies. I was electrified with amazement. My dad was a tech-obsessed software engineer, so we were one of the first houses in the neighborhood to have dial-up internet. Years later, we were one of the first to have high-speed broadband. Trips to Disney.com were eventually replaced with MSN conversations, visits to Habbo Hotel, and marathon gaming sessions on Xbox Live.
As an adult, I probably wouldn’t fit the profile of a “tech nerd” (I don’t own many gizmos, and unlike my father, I can’t code), but as a child, I was enthralled with the World Wide Web and its eminent vastness. I remember downloading my first MP3 on Kazaa. I remember the magical feeling of opening my first Hotmail account. I remember creating my first website and binge watching on FunnyJunk.com. I remember the social-life-shaking effects of getting my first webcam. I remember the exhilaration of creating a Facebook account as a high school freshman.
