I've released my latest episode about Yoshimitsu Morita's Haru (1996). It's about a man and woman who forge a beautiful bond through the internet after they meet in an online film chat room. It captures the optimism and novelty of technology in the 1990s: dial-up internet, email, floppy discs, camcorders. It's sweet, cozy, and emotionally moving.
The film gave me the opportunity to share my own complicated feelings about online connection and the drastic changes that have taken place on the internet the last few years.
I'm not sure I said everything I wanted to say. I can be a bit hard on myself when it comes to the podcast. I want each episode to be my absolute best, but I went through a lot of stress this past month that made it harder for me to record: my washing machine died and the battery in my laptop malfunctioned. I had to go into my savings in order to purchase both a new washer and a new laptop.
I hope I did this film justice. I certainly tried. More than anything, I wanted to communicate my belief in the validity of online connection. I don't see it as inherently inferior or less than other forms of connection that are more embodied.
I think Morita was exploring many things that we still don't have language for. What does it mean to feel something for another person who only exists through words on a screen? When we connect to someone online, what exactly are we connecting to if we are not sharing the same physical space? What kind of intimacy is created through writing to another person? Can we be more ourselves and reveal hidden parts of ourselves through this form of communication online?
What I didn't mention in the episode is that I struggle with agoraphobia and, as a result, I've often relied on online friendship to diminish my own loneliness. When I became a caregiver for my late mother from 2020 to 2025, I also became quite isolated. The internet gave me a way to connect with others during that time.
But I also learned the limits of online connection, particularly if the other person does not value it in the same way or sees it as less real or less important. I went through some very painful experiences of caring more about others than they cared about me. At times, it felt humiliating, and I felt like a fool for opening myself to people who seemed to view me as optional and disposable.
Watching Haru brought me some healing in relation to these experiences. I realized that my capacity to bond with others is not a liability, and it does not make me foolish. There is nothing shameful in caring about another person, even if it's only online. It's actually very brave to open our hearts to another.
At the worst time of my life, I still cared about people. I still offered friendship. I still went toward connection, even though, ultimately, I got hurt. The hurt does not invalidate the attempt. The attempt itself is proof of my humanity and my depth of feeling.