Write about your first computer.
My first computer showed up in my life sometime in the 90s, when everything was beige, heavy, and loud for absolutely no reason.
It wasn’t sleek.
It wasn’t portable.
It definitely wasn’t fast.
It was a giant beige box that took up half the desk, sounded like it was struggling to breathe, and took a full five business days to boot up. You didn’t just “turn it on.” You committed to it.
This thing ran on Windows that looked like it was built with Microsoft Paint and blind optimism. The monitor was a deep, soul-sucking tube that could absolutely crush a foot if dropped. The keyboard was loud. The mouse had a literal rubber ball inside it that had to be cleaned or it would just… stop cooperating out of spite.
But at the time?
That computer was everything.
This was the era of dial-up internet, where connecting online meant you had to ask permission from the rest of the house first.
“DON’T PICK UP THE PHONE.”
“ARE YOU USING THE INTERNET?”
“GET OFF, I NEED TO MAKE A CALL.”
That screeching dial-up sound is permanently burned into my brain. It sounded like robots fighting, and somehow that noise meant you were about to access the entire world. Slowly. Painfully. One image loading line by line.
But when it finally connected? You felt powerful.
I used that computer to explore the early internet like a feral raccoon in a dumpster. AOL chat rooms. Instant Messenger. Making my username something aggressively cool and slightly embarrassing. Away messages that were basically public diary entries.
You didn’t just scroll — you waited.
You didn’t just download — you planned.
You didn’t just multitask — because you literally couldn’t.
If someone sent you a photo, you watched it load pixel by pixel, hoping it wasn’t going to freeze at 98% and ruin your whole night.
Games were basic but addictive.
Homework was typed, printed, and prayed over.
Music had to be downloaded one song at a time, and half the time it wasn’t even the right song.
And yet… that computer gave me something huge.
It gave me curiosity.
It gave me independence.
It gave me the first taste of creating, exploring, connecting, and figuring things out on my own.
I didn’t know it then, but that clunky, slow, beige monster was teaching me patience, problem-solving, and how to troubleshoot when shit didn’t work — which, honestly, feels very on brand for adulthood.
Looking back now, with everything fast, wireless, touch-screen, and instant, it’s wild to think about how much effort it took just to exist online back then. But maybe that’s why it mattered more. You didn’t mindlessly scroll. You intentionally logged on.
That first computer wasn’t pretty.
It wasn’t convenient.
But it opened a door.
And in a weird way, it feels fitting that my love for creating, writing, building things, and figuring stuff out started on a machine that required patience, resilience, and a little bit of chaos.
Very feral.
Very formative.
Very 90s.
Tumblers and Trash Talk 
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