Click, swipe, block: How my two-year virtual ‘relationship’ crashed

Suddenly you’re unfollowed, unfriended, unremembered—the anguish that follows a digital fallout.  


In a world where every connection is just a click away, it’s easy to believe we’re more connected than ever. But the opposite may be true more than we care to admit.

During the pandemic, as we were all confined to our homes, longing for a taste of the outside world and craving connection, someone came into my life. It felt like a lifeline in those isolating times. But what happens when those digital ties unravel? I recently found myself grappling with this question after a friendship I cherished came to an abrupt, painful end—ironically, all because of the very technology that was supposed to bring us closer together.

It started like many modern friendships do: online. We bonded over his live streams, where I was more than just another viewer. Or at least, that’s what I thought. I was drawn to his content, yes, but I was also drawn to him—a friend I could laugh with, support, and maybe even care for in ways that went beyond the screen.

A scholar at MIT argues that our technology, while keeping us constantly connected, also keeps us at a distance—close enough to interact, but far enough to avoid real intimacy.

As our connection deepened, our conversations moved from the streams to late-night talks about life. We shared tutorials, exchanged voice messages, and updated each other on the small and significant moments of our days. I remember one time when my flight was unexpectedly canceled; sensing my disappointment, he sent me a Grab code, insisting I treat myself to something good to lift my spirits. It was these thoughtful gestures—like the birthday cake he sent or his comments on my posts and stories—that made our connection feel so real and personal.

Over nearly two years, my feelings for him grew. These weren’t just interactions anymore; they were moments that made me feel seen and valued. Each late-night conversation, each message, made it feel like we were building something real, something that mattered deeply to me.

As my career demanded more of my presence in the real world, I had to step back, disappearing from his streams for a few weeks. It wasn’t intentional ghosting; it was simply life demanding my attention elsewhere. I expected a friend to understand that, to maybe check in and see if I was okay. Instead, when I returned, I found myself blocked, unfriended, and unfollowed.

His defense? That I had ghosted him, that my absence was a betrayal, a hurt he couldn’t overlook. He said his streams were a way for me to stay connected with him, but what I wanted was more than that. I wanted a connection that extended beyond pixels and chat windows, something personal, something real.

It was then that I realized he saw me not as a friend, but as just another follower, another viewer who had overstayed her welcome.

I came across an article by Sherry Turkle, a scholar at MIT, titled “The Flight from Conversation,” which deeply resonated with my experience. Turkle argues that our technology, while keeping us constantly connected, also keeps us at a distance—close enough to interact, but far enough to avoid real intimacy. We’ve traded real, meaningful dialogue for constant, shallow connection. Turkle’s concept of being “alone together” captured what I felt: connected, yet isolated.

This is the dilemma of digital relationships: they are both intimate and impersonal, real yet unreal. We pour our emotions into these connections, but they can evaporate with a single click.

This is the dilemma of digital relationships: they are both intimate and impersonal, real yet unreal. We pour our emotions into these connections, but they can evaporate with a single click. This was exactly what happened between us. We were close, but not close enough. I believed we were friends, perhaps even something more, but to him, I was just another fan.

The realization was like a cold splash of water on my face, shattering the illusions I had built up around our connection. I was cut off completely. The irony wasn’t lost on me—I found myself wanting an explanation, maybe even an apology, for what I apparently did wrong. All the while, I couldn’t shake the thought that during the time I needed someone the most, when I was at my lowest, he never once reached out.

This experience has taught me that digital relationships require clear communication and a mutual understanding of what each person needs. Without that, we’re left navigating a minefield of assumptions and unmet expectations. 

So, how do we move forward? How do we ensure that our relationships are more than just digital illusions? Perhaps the answer lies in remembering that behind every screen is a person with real emotions, real needs, and a real desire for connection. And maybe, just maybe, we need to step away from the screens every now and then, to engage with each other on a level that’s truly human.

In the end, this experience, though painful, became a lesson in the complexities of modern relationships. It’s shown me the importance of communication—real communication—in a world that too often relies on the superficial connections of social media. 

As for me, I’m learning that sometimes, the most meaningful connections are the ones that happen when we put down our phones and truly show up for each other, especially when it matters most.

The new lifestyle.