On August 4, I turned 18 in Second Life.

Eighteen. As in, if my avatar were a real person, she could now vote, move out, and have a midlife crisis in real life, too.

But instead, here I am: still in Second Life, still logging in, still accidentally sitting on furniture I didn’t mean to click, and still not entirely sure what those mysterious “objects” in my inventory are. And still afraid to rez or delete them.

Back in my day…

Back in 2007, we didn’t have mesh bodies or BOM makeup. We had system layers and system feet with prim shoes, and shirts that were painted onto your torso like a bad decision. We walked like broken Barbie dolls. We were glorious.

Your blingy shoes could light up a full sim. Your hair could cause structural lag, and you hoped that it stayed on your head when crossing a sim-border. Flexi gowns whipped violently in the wind even indoors, while we strutted around like it was Paris Fashion Week meets Hurricane Katrina.

And I loved it.

I still remember my first freebie box (a tattoo),  my first home in an apartment building with 10 prims to use, and that time I thought I was buying a medieval castle but accidentally bought a 512m² skybox textured like meat. Mistakes were made. Lindens were lost.

18 years of Inventory Struggles

My inventory is now a living organism. It breathes. It hisses when opened. Somewhere in there, deep beneath 73 folders labelled “Sort Later,” lies a 2008 scripted sex bed, several thousand LM’s to clubs that don’t exist anymore, and probably an entire antique collection of katana fighting accessories.

I’ve reached a point where I don’t clean it anymore, I just offer it a sacrifice and hope it doesn’t crash me.

I’ve Seen Things…

I’ve had lovers in Second Life. More than once. Some were whirlwind romances filled with long nights and grand declarations. A few flings fizzled out somewhere between a timezone mismatch and a gift gone wrong. There were breakups with drama, and with entire friend groups divided like custody battles. And there were the kind that ended in a hug and a heartfelt, “take care out there.”

I’ve wandered into art projects where no one knew exactly what was going on, but everyone agreed it was deep. I’ve stood at Fantasy Faire in a cloud of particle effects, sword in hand, wondering why I’m crying over a story involving a mushroom.

I’ve sat in discussion groups that tried to save the Metaverse, and once spent three hours trying to align a prim bookshelf during one. I’ve joined katana clans, danced in unicorn parades, and once protested something that I only half understood, but the sign was cute.

I’ve met people who have become dear, genuine friends. The kind you tell your actual thoughts to, the ones who send you messages just to say, “thinking of you.” And I’ve met people who… well. Let’s just say the mute button exists for a reason.

And of course, I’ve lost friends too. Some left Second Life and never came back. No drama, no goodbye, just… logged out one day and never returned. Others passed away in real life. Their avatars still live in my friends list. I still visit their profiles sometimes, like digital gravestones. Still smile at their picks.

Second Life gives you everything: absurdity, connection, heartbreak, joy. It’s all a bit weird. And a bit wonderful.

Still Here. Still Fabulous

So after all that… I’m still here.

Still logging in. Still freezing when I change my outfit too quickly. Still standing in my bathroom in a half-rezzed hairbase, wondering what I came here to do. (Probably shop. Or avoid shopping. Or organise my inventory. No, definitely not that.)

I’ve lived through viewers that broke everything. Windlight settings that made me look like a gremlin. Entire body updates that required a spreadsheet and a sacrificial ritual. I’ve survived sim crossings, accidental TP landings into adult roleplay scenes, and those awkward moments when someone you don’t remember says, “Hey! Long time no see!” and you just go with it.

I’ve reinvented myself more than a few times over, sometimes on purpose, sometimes accidentally. And somehow, through all the hassles, the 3AM shopping sprees, the IMs from complete strangers asking “wanna hang?”, I never stopped loving this strange, beautiful world.

Because, for all its quirks, and there are so many, Second Life is still unlike anything else. It’s a place where the ridiculous and the meaningful can sit side by side. Where you can go from deep philosophical discussion to flying spaghetti monsters in under five minutes.

Where else can you build a dream, fall in love, grieve a loss, join a cult, and accidentally wear your sofa as a hat?

Only here.

Eighteen Years. Imagine That.

I never thought I’d be here this long. Honestly, I didn’t even think Second Life would be here this long. But somehow, we both are, still surprising each other.

Eighteen years. That’s long enough for a whole generation of avatars to be born, retextured, rebaked, reshaped, and reborn again as something entirely new. And yet, there’s always that strange, comforting feeling when I log in and see a familiar name pop up online.

I’ve changed. Second Life has changed. We’ve both had awkward phases, questionable fashion choices, and breakdowns during updates. But we’ve also grown. Evolved. Softened a little around the edges.

And somewhere between the failed teleports and the perfectly lit photo shoots, I found pieces of myself here. People, I still carry with me. Memories I didn’t know would matter.

So here’s to all the years I’ve spent walking this virtual path. To the creators who inspired me, the friends who stayed, and the strangers who made me laugh unexpectedly on a Tuesday night.

Here’s to the ridiculous and the real, the magical and the unexpected.

And here’s to logging in tomorrow, probably bald, standing in the wrong outfit, holding an espresso machine that was meant to be decor.

Still here. Still me.
And still, against all odds… in love with Second Life.❤️