My grandma Popo passed away 9 years ago, but I couldn’t make it to her funeral in person. In lieu of this, I watched it over a skype call, in my room 7886 kms away. My interactions with Popo were largely online so it wasn’t out of the ordinary that it turned out this way. My actions might imply that we weren’t close; in fact I loved her dearly and would have wished the world to say goodbye in person. The geographical distance between us meant we had to make up for the physical absence in our relationship by any means.
In 2012, both Popo and I joined Facebook. It soon became our main way to connect. The posts on my wall were frequent and the messages seemingly unending, but what I valued the most were the mundane posts that Popo would share that felt intimate and personal. Simple snapshots of her garden triggered waves of homesickness and grief, but they were reminders that despite the physical distances separating us, our connection never faded.
It’s also just a source of humour. My grandma was a big fan of Guatemala, and mentions of this South American nation were never lacking. In one post she implicitly admits to breaking biosecurity laws by planting grass she brought back from Guatemala.
“Guatemalaから持って帰った日々草がそろそろ終わりです.”
The grass that I brought back from Guatemala is almost finished.
In another post she explains to her friends that she cannot speak Brazilian Portuguese, unprompted.
Like many 76 year olds Popo was unable to grasp the norms of the internet, frequently interacting with posts from my own friends who weren’t connected to her in any way. Instances like this sparked conversations that went along the lines of:
“Hey, um I think your grandma shared a post about my dad yesterday” or “Some Japanese person liked my post and your friends with her on Facebook.”
This is endearing as a 24 year old, but was mortifying at 14. As a migrant in regional NSW, any extra focus on my Japanese-Chinese identity was an unwelcome stressor. From around this age, I actively hid my identity online and off. This I deeply regret, as it strained my relationship with Popo.
Popo passed away in 2015 but her Facebook account has remained an extension of her. Like a Kamidana, (神棚) exists as an alter to visit and reminisce.
A few years ago, a new Facebook feature came out, “On this day”. It never piqued my interest until it seemingly revived Popo. She was back in my life again. This time in the form of a Facebook notification.
Even as I write this piece, Facebook alerts me to one.
On this day, 9 years ago,Popo posted on your wall:
February 27th, 2015
“とても愉しい毎日でした。有難うございました。”
It was a very fun day. Thank you very much.
Like our conversations never ceased, the dialogue between us was back again.
My grandma still exists in the metaverse.
