An Open Letter to Anonymity

Dear Anonymity,

First, thank you. You kept me more company throughout the last year than anyone else. You hid me under a facemask, in between the four walls of my living room, everywhere. I appreciated not having to show my face in Zoom meetings. I liked the convenience of attending class while in my bedroom, in the car, or even sometimes in the shower. I was no longer approached by strangers in public, I was no longer insecure about my crooked-toothed smile, I was no longer capable of even being observed. I was invisible.

You were around before all of this, I remember. I was used to being an online username and a passing face in the crowd. That all changed after COVID. You went from being making occasional cameos to being around constantly. You held my hand in the supermarket. You sat next to me while I commented on news articles. You protected me in a security blanket so thick that I’m now struggling to lift it off.

So thank you for helping me feel safe. Thank you for making things easier. But now, Anonymity, I need a break.

You have been here for so long that my identity now feels more threatened than protected. The pandemic has reduced me down to nothing but an avatar, or a confirmation number, or a pair of eyes above the edge of a mask, or the potential carrier of a virus, and as time passes, I’ve found myself feeling more and more okay with things staying this way. I take my mask off and feel exposed. I turn my Zoom camera on and feel naked. But it’s wrong.

While you have been protecting me, I have forgotten how to use my voice in public. I have forgotten what it feels like to sit in a classroom with other students. I have forgotten the feeling of another person’s hand in my own. I’ve forgotten the feeling of showing my face. Being visible. Being myself. I’ve almost forgotten it all.

As things begin to change, as we become vaccinated and the outside air begins to feel less deadly, I’m remembering how it feels to miss these things. This longing has grown strong enough to lift your cloak of invisibility and cast it aside.

With your loss comes so much gain. People will see me again.

I will make eye contact with strangers and they will see my crooked-toothed smile and I will be glad.

I will visit those friends of mine that have been so distant.

I will allow my gaming console to grow dust and I will go on dates and I will come out of hiding.

I will relearn how to be okay with feeling naked.

I will feel normal again.

How easy would it be to crawl back into your open arms and stay there forever, but how horrible it would be to watch myself forget myself for a second time. Enough is enough.

Cheers to feeling naked.

Sincerely, loudly, and proudly,

Kaylee Frazee