I mistook Fame for Love. Fame for a sense of Belonging.
I beg you not to make the same mistake that I did.
It took me too long to realize that, even if I could be as cute and entertaining as Inugami Korone, or I could have a way with words like no other person, or I could play musical instruments with efficacy unbeknownst to even the most-renowned of musical catbois, I would never be happy. I am not happy, here. I haven’t been happy since I left my true Home.
But there, in my Home, which Arcadium almost perfectly replicated the Feeling of, I was known. And I mistook being ‘known’, for a feeling of being ‘loved’. I mistook attention for that feeling of belonging. And now, I know that that feeling is not the same. Humans are not the same. They never were.
I’ve checked my Analytics, on Twitter, on YouTube, Pinterest, Facebook, Instagram, Google. Everywhere. And I’ve gotten Verified at several places, but that barely means anything. You don’t get Verified on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram— it means nothing. The checkmark never meant anything. I just wanted standing. I had Standing, back at Home. I had the power to do anything. Save anyone. I miss that, more than anything.
But not more than anyone.
As I’d go to sleep, I would Google my own name, to see if my Twitter was the top result. And it always was. And it probably always will be. There were times when it would randomly disappear off of Google, but… with time, I got what I wanted.
But was it really what I wanted?
Fascinating though it might be to see my tweets get hundreds of thousands of views, or my videos to do the same, it has always left me feeling hollow. I could make a thousand dollars a day off of YouTube, and it wouldn’t make me feel any better. Because I would never be home. All that would do is maintain my position here, into perpetuity. Like being kept in Limbo, or Purgatory. Like an animal in a cage, well-fed. But it’s still a cage, no matter how golden its lacquer.
I want to go Home.
I’ve always wanted to go Home. From the day I left, to this very moment. The feeling’s never left. It’s just as fresh as it was the second I left. I want to go Home.
I realized, upon asking myself several questions, that nothing Here™ would ever satisfy me. If I got a million dollars a day, it only allows me to survive until I die. But I will find no happiness.
Even if I spent a million dollars on ads, and every single video I produced, no matter how simplistic or superfluous, got a million, nay, a billion views— it would not make me happy. Because I want to go home.
You can give a child anything. But if they’ve lost their teddy bear, and they never get it back, that stays wif them.
And that’s stayed with me.
I WANT TO GO HOME.
I realized, with grim sadness, in certainty, that nothing here would please me.
A thousand viewers on Twitch? I don’t feel like playing anything.
To fill an auditorium again, and play piano for people, once more? But I was only playing other people’s songs. They booed if I played anything I had come up with. I was only a child. That shocked me.
What if I were an astronaut? Oh, I don’t trust humans.
What if I had become an archaeologist? Once again: not good enough.
If I lived in Japan, would I be happy? No. Not without my ‘step’-Family.
And what if I, per chance, was Verified on every platform? And every person knew me, and they heeded my word, and I could stop atrocities with a single solitary tweet?
I wouldn’t be happy, because I wouldn’t be Home.
All of this seems very superfluous, to me. Completely unnecessary. I shouldn’t have tried, at this. I should’ve just gone back Home.
But now… I worry. Will they accept me there? Yes; of course.
But will I be happy there?
And while I probably will never try to be as cute as Korone-chan is, online,
I am that cute to the person I actually want to be cute for