My MySpace page popped up as one of the first search results for Victoria Freyre. What an embarrassing mess. Too many borderline inappropriate images with overly-emotional teenage song lyrics scrolling across the page in brightly colored font from a custom HTML code. Next came my original Twitter account, equally as moody, just as Internet visible. Even Facebook, the last bastion of privacy, appeared in my search results, much to my chagrin. Needless to say, I went on a massive image control campaign with myself, deleting the horrific MySpace page and finding clever ways to change my name to keep my personal social media profiles from appearing in the Google search results on a potential employer’s computer screen.
About two thirds of the world’s illiterate adults are women. Sixty percent of the world’s poorest people are women. Women around the world are denied the information or authority to prevent pregnancy, but complications of pregnancy or childbirth are a leading killer of women of reproductive age. And 15 million girls under 18 are married as child brides every year.
But in between the hours spent raiding digital castles, kicking digital butt, and collecting digital coins, I spent hours actual climbing trees, finding a secret way onto my roof, inline skating around the driveways of my block, building (what I thought to be) groundbreaking forts, and collecting, then selling mangoes. I didn’t give up on my swing set even after Hurricane Andrew ravaged it, rendering the monkey bars useless, and leaving it without its bright yellow tarp roof.