Vixxie’s letter to Mr. Green.

Dear Mr. Green,

You don’t know me. And I don’t know you. Not personally, anyway. That’s probably for the best.
You’re not even a real person. You’re a piece of code, written by some bored jerk who randomly violates any site that has a vulnerability.
You left your name tag in my website title. Thank you. I have somewhat of an idea now who I’m going to wish bad karma to come next solstice.

Yes I’m aware, I was an easy target. I had outdated blog software and plug-ins. I shouldn’t have. But that sometimes happens, when life is your main priority (and thus not blogging about said life) and you trust your memories to be reasonably safe from harm, considering the fact there is no money being made on this website. I’m not an influencer. There aren’t even any advertising adds. I know. It wasn’t personal. You have probably not even looked at who you targeted. You were set on a mission to mass destruct.

Mr. Green, you didn’t just hack my blog.
You destroyed 20 years worth of life’s memorabiliaYou took a big sledgehammer and ruined twenty years of stories, travel journeys, wonderings and wanderings.
And y
ou don’t give a shit. Why should you? You molested the privacy of a couple of thousands of small players like myself, you didn’t steal from a big corporate, right? No harm done? No, you have not stolen from a number, a wallet or an algorithm but you did break MY heart, Mr. Green.

My backups turned out unusable. The databases were incompatible or corrupted, whatever it may have been, I didn’t manage to recover my website. That’s right, there was nothing left to salvage, because you emptied my complete database with just a careless fling over a keyboard. Whoooooosj.

  • The post for my deceased grandfather, the beautiful words spoken on his funeral and the songs they chose for him to part with. Gone.
  • The letter I wrote to my 16 year old gutted self, talking her through the years of bullying behind and ahead and my prayer for a more considerate world. Gone.
  • The beautiful words I wrote for my mum on every mother’s day for the past decade. Gone.
  • My 100 days of happiness challenge, which was really bloody tough mind you… not a shred of it left. Gone.
  • The slow tormenting journey of parting with my beautiful pet, and finding happiness with two new little princes in my life. Years of memories. Gone
  • My travel pictures from Tel Aviv, Barcelona, Cardiff, Moscow, Lisbon, with friends, with lovers, with family. My roadtrips in Andalusia and Portugal. Gone.

They are all fucking gone, Mr. Green.

But Vixxie, is it not incredibly freeing to let go of the past? Dude, do I look like a fucking Buddhist to you? My blog content wasn’t intentionally gift-wrapped for YOU. Every time I’m nearly done convincing myself that there is something therapeutic in letting go, I remember one post or another at the most inopportune times. When I am in the supermarket, on a Skype call with my boss, talking to my love, about to fall asleep….. pop. There it is. Like a dagger to the gut. Do you remember when I wrote about how proud I was to be completely independent for the last 10 years? No? Well, I do. No matter how great or small a value that post really was, it brings me to my knees every single time remembering that I will never read it again. I will never be catapulted back to how I felt, looking at the pictures of my student apartment.
I just want to go home. 

You know what bothers me a lot, as well? You are completely uninspirational.
Do you remember “Operation: Cupcake“? In 2011, the British intelligence MI6 took over a radical Muslim online magazine and replaced an article on how to manufacture pipe bombs, with a collection of cupcake recipes. All the creative things you could have come up with to replace my actual cupcake recipes with. Oh that joke would have made me explode in laughter. Did you see what I did there, Mr Green? Do you have a sense of humor? I guess you don’t. You just pressed delete.
It is such a waste of talent if you ask me, you could be like the other real-world-hackers who hack economies, systems, pretty much everything to make the world a bit better. And there you are, targeting outdated life blogs. Your inferiority complex is completely justified. You sir, are the reason god created the middle finger.

You won’t read this letter, Mr. Green. But if you did, it may have shed some light into the dark space that lives inside of you. Next time you set out for world domination or political sabotage or otherworldly experiments… remember there are real people with real emotions behind the pixels you destroy.

But hey, at least you didn’t hack my Netflix, right? Thank god for that.


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