Hana Shafi Ode to MSN

How I miss MSN; I remember the rush I would get coming home from school and hopping on MSN (sometimes in “appear offline” mode because I was secretly self-conscious of my constant MSN use). The emoticons, the tacky fonts, my embarrassing username usually adorned with hearts and emotional song lyrics; those were some good times. Well, as good as life can get being a bored 6th grader with a computer in her room.

MSN was like some kind of hip, happening social scene. My heart would do somersaults when my crush of the time would sign on. Remember the few times when you’d actually be brave enough to message them with a “hey, what’s up?” and then eagerly tell your buddies during recess? Or how you would be secretly paranoid when as soon as you came online, they went offline. Or the absolute horror when your internet connection would drop mid-convo and you didn’t want someone to think you left without saying goodbye (that was a big one for me, having the shittiest possible connection on the planet, you would think I lived in the middle of nowhere).

Even better were the group convos, those were fucking balling. Group convos were like going to some secret VIP party, especially when you were in one at the late hours of the night, i.e. 11:30 because my mom still gave me a bed time in middle school. I especially remember being in group convos where we’d play truth or dare and feel amazingly badass for our scandalous topics.

Sure, maybe you can apply some of those instances to Facebook, but MSN has some kind of special quality to it, a warm place in our hearts as we feel that wave of nostalgia thinking about that beloved green icon. MSN holds some legitimately significant memories for me: the deep existential chats of me and my fellow pubescent 13-year-old buddy, my crush telling me he liked me over MSN (classy, I know), the immensely suspenseful moment when an email address you can’t recognize adds you on MSN and you become Sherlock Holmes and message them “who r u.” 

So thank you MSN, for entertaining those long boring weeknights and making me a really fast typer because, hey, it’s a good skill. May no one forget your legacy. 

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