In Mexican folkore, each of us is said to die three deaths: Once, when we take our last breaths. Twice, when our bodies are consigned to their graves. Thrice, the last time someone speaks our names among the living.
Maybe we should now add a fourth:
when our families figure out our IM, Friendster and Lawtalkers passwords to notify our imaginary friends.
Where are our MIAs, anyway?
