I Deleted All My Social Accounts—Yet I Still Fear Loneliness in the Digital Void

H1: The Screen at 3 AM

I used to think my worth was measured in likes—the number of hearts on a post, the ratio of comments to silence. I believed if I just deleted every account, I’d finally be free. But freedom didn’t arrive with a click. It came at 3 a.m., when the blue glow of my laptop lit up like a neon temple in Manhattan, and my reflection in the subway window felt more real than any avatar.

H2: The Ritual of Disconnection

My mother ran a small tea shop in San Francisco—her hands steeped oolong under candlelight while I coded games that never paid off. She said: ‘Fate is not luck—it’s rhythm.’ So I began tracking my breath instead of wins. Each scroll became a meditation: no streaks, no trends—just the quiet pulse between notifications.

H3: When Algorithms Stop Breathing

The RNG didn’t care if you were lonely. It only knew your last bet was attention. And so I stopped playing.

I stopped chasing trends because they’re not prophecies—they’re echoes. I don’t need to win—I need to be remembered. Not by bots—but by someone who sees you after midnight.

I still leave my phone on. Not for connection. For witness.

H2: The Tea That Remains

Last week, my mother sent me a folded paper—handwritten characters in ink: ‘福牛不是运气，是气韵。’ It meant nothing without stillness. The same as your soul—not your screen. The same as mine.