Google, I have to tell you something, please, sit down.


This is so hard to say, so difficult to express, but I can’t go on anymore without telling you how I feel.

Let me start by saying, it’s not you, it’s me. Ok, ok, I’ll be honest, it’s a bit of you, and perhaps, it’s a bit of me too.

We’ve both grown together, but recently I feel that we’re growing apart.

At first you were this lovable, spritely young thing.

I was pleasantly surprised by your quirks and your efficiency, you helped me find the things I was looking for much better than my former relationships. There was that year I spent with Yahoo and, ugh, I don’t even want to think about that summer flirtation with Excite all those years ago.

Ok, sorry, I’m getting off track.

You’re no longer the challenging, youthful enterprise you were when we met. You’ve added a lot of weight with very little attempt to shed any of it. You’ve gotten, well, pushy and bloated in a totally ‘I’m not being pushy, who says I am!?’ kind of way.

You’re everywhere I turn. You’re everywhere I look. I feel sometimes like I’m getting smothered.

I guess for me it’s a culmination of things and every week you want to tell me something new about yourself. I was willing to blindly accept that you’d mapped my city. But now you’ve taken photos of every house I’ve lived in and place that I’ve worked. Soon you’ll have taken photos of every house and every workplace of everyone I’ll ever meet in my whole life.

You’re like a great friend who tries to make everything fun and easy when we interact but has the notebook out all the time, recording every second of it. Google, for all of the conveniences provided it just seems a bit stalkerish.

I know you tell me you’re good, but recently I’ve got to thinking, would I let the CIA, the FBI or ASIO hear all my voicemails, read every email, know everything I’m doing online and believe them just because they say they’re good? Probably not.

It’s not that I don’t want to believe you. But when anyone asks you what you do with all that information, you never really tell them. Sometimes I look at you, not like a partner but, ruefully, like a parent, telling me ‘it doesn’t matter what I know, but I know what’s best for you’.

So, this isn’t a break up exactly, it’s a… a refining back I guess.

We can still be friends and we’ll definitely keep in contact through gmail and aside from all the memes, the lolz and the entertaining seasonal logo changing, we’ll always have your 54,500,000 images of Paris.

Sincere and fond regards,

Rowan Wilde


One comment

  1. Yeah…quirky. similarities to a psycho, stalking female ex/partner, but that’s where it ends….its not just you, it’s everyone. She’s got pics of everyones houses, streets etc… according to you she’s a serial, slut stalker on mass scale.
    But seriously…it’s Google! Where do you get off? Whats better?
    If everyone was using a different browser, and the Google product was just launched in its current form, you’d be singing praises, talkin about how sexy she is, efficient etc…
    Just another case of “the grass is always greener”

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