You're the only one I can talk to. You're the only place where I can share my secret fears. I feel safe, because I know that no one else will ever read what I write here.
Even now, after all these years, I don't feel safe as a gay man. I know there are a lot of people who hate me for that. I feel sick to my stomach when I read how another young gay man was murdered: They broke Mr Zamudio's leg with a heavy stone, beat him up with bottles and carved swastikas into his body with broken glass before walking away.
I am very proud to spend my working life in the field of privacy. I believe that it's the foundation of human dignity, and I hope that I can contribute something to it. But in a dark mood, I realize that I can no more hold up the tides of technology than an oyster can stop the tides.
I know that secret algorithms roam the Internet, analyzing, recording, and data-mining every piece of data that they find, billion by billion. But I assume they won't read this blog, because it's just my blog and it's not very important, except to me. And even if they do read this blog, I assume it's just to show me an ad, which isn't a big deal. I mean, they wouldn't create a psychographic profile of me, would they, to use to decide whether or not to hire or fire me? I mean, I'm not a public figure, like a politician, so why would they create a profile of me?
I had a funny dream yesterday, that I went to dental school to start a new career. In my dream, I realized that no one would ever thank you for your work in privacy, because it was always a losing fight, so I thought I'd look for a career where you could help people. Well, that's something I could only tell you, dear diary, since I wouldn't want anyone else to know that I'm nagged by doubts. This facade is getting exhausting, like pretending to be straight when you're not. I'm willing to fight the good fight, but I know that I'll lose, in the end. Well, dear diary, at least I can confide in you, and I feel better already, since I know you'll keep my secrets.