In 2024, flipping the switch to AFK mode feels like borderline insanity—a rarity, a privilege, and a quiet rebellion against the relentless hum of being online. Since ICQ, OG 4chan, mIRC, and MySpace, I’ve been unapologetically, irreversibly, and maybe even unhealthily chronically online (C.O.). My day is basically a stream of pings, DMs, and endless tabs, with notifs stacking up like Bust-A-Move bubbles.
And yet, over the past few years, something shifted. Algo-fed sludge and the nonstop scroll of content started to feel more like a trap than a thrill. Exhaustion crept in. Even as someone who's at home in the depths of the Internet, I began craving space—space to breathe, to exist, to step out of the hyper-visibility feedback loop. That’s when Shibuya, the beating heart of Tokyo and where I live, became my paradoxical exit hatch.
This neighborhood is a vortex of movement, sound, and light. But somehow, in this sea of tourists, salarymen, neon, and 24/7 energy, I’ve carved out my own quiet. I slip into the background, disappear into the crowd, and find calm in becoming invisible. An NPC in the sprawl of the megalopolis, I sync with the urban symphony, no longer “on” but simply there.
I call it recalibration, not disconnection. I’m not logging off entirely (FOMO is still a thing), but I’ve learned to unplug just enough to rediscover balance.
