Life before the internet is a concept that might seem foreign to many, but for those of us who experienced it, it conjures a tapestry of vivid memories. I was fortunate enough to spend my formative years in the Philippines, specifically in the province of Pangasinan, during a time when digital connectivity was still a distant whisper. My childhood was not just wonderful; it was a masterclass in organic discovery, community, and the art of anticipation.
Growing up, my days weren’t dictated by glowing screens or endless feeds. Instead, they unfolded outdoors, fueled by the boundless energy of youth and the simple joys of traditional games. Text and pogs weren’t digital messages or collectible discs, but rather the names of local street games, echoing with laughter and friendly competition. We played tumbang preso, a chaotic yet thrilling game of tag where an empty can was the coveted target, and piko, the Filipino version of hopscotch, drawn with chalk on dusty pathways. These weren’t just pastimes; they were rituals, forging bonds with neighbors and creating a shared understanding of fun that transcended language barriers.
The world outside my home was a source of constant wonder, unmediated by algorithms. Information wasn’t at my fingertips; it was something to be sought out, discussed, and sometimes, patiently waited for. I vividly recall the exquisite agony and ultimate delight of waiting for my favorite songs to finally grace the airwaves. Radio waves carried not just music, but stories, news, and the collective heartbeat of the community. Similarly, television shows were events, not on-demand commodities. We planned our days around their broadcast times, gathering with family to watch, discuss, and sometimes, critique. This forced patience, this embrace of anticipation, instilled a deeper appreciation for content when it finally arrived.
Contrast this with today’s instant gratification. Any piece of music, any film, any scrap of information is readily available with a few taps. While undeniably convenient, this constant accessibility can sometimes dull the edge of curiosity. Before the widespread use of the internet, if you wanted to know something, you had to actively pursue it. This often meant poring over encyclopedias, visiting libraries, or, most commonly, asking elders and experts in the community. Information was a journey, not a destination. This pursuit of knowledge often led to tangential discoveries, deepening understanding and fostering a genuine sense of intellectual exploration. The absence of readily searchable answers also left room for wonder and speculation, allowing our imaginations to fill in the blanks. There was a unique satisfaction in piecing together information, like solving a puzzle with limited clues.
The internet has undeniably revolutionized our world, offering unprecedented access to information and connecting people across vast distances. Yet, there’s a part of me that deeply misses the slower pace, the tangible interactions, and the inherent magic of a world where discovery was a more deliberate and often communal experience. My childhood before the internet wasn’t lacking; it was rich with experiences that fostered creativity, resilience, and a profound appreciation for the present moment. It was a time when curiosity was a driving force, and the answers, when they finally came, felt all the more precious.
