Saudade

Saudade reminds us of what was good — and what we’re still capable of building.

I’ll never forget the first time I came across the word saudade. It was after Orkut was shut down. Suddenly, messages poured in from around the world. Many said the same thing: "saudade do Orkut." At first, I assumed they just missed the website. But the word kept appearing, and it felt heavier than nostalgia.

Saudade is the Portuguese word for longing, but there is no precise translation in English for the word. Saudade is a feeling, a mood. The silence of sailors waving goodbye as they depart from the shore, hoping one day they might return. It is the ache of something missing, the person you were before but can never go back to. The love that was lost.

When I have asked my Brazilian friends, they explain that saudade isn’t just missing something. It’s the ache of something gone. Not just a person or place, but a version of yourself from before. It’s a word for when you remember being truly happy — and know you can’t go back.

One friend told me, "I miss Sunday dinners, the sound of laughter echoing through the house, the feeling of belonging." That’s saudade. A memory that lives in your bones.

I feel saudade for my father. He died too soon, but left a mark. He was a surgeon who treated people regardless of their ability to pay. He led with humility and compassion, not ambition. When he died, the entire city paused. I used to think my grief was private, but when people stopped me on the street to share how he had helped them, I realized his life had created their saudade, too.

I never set out to build something like that. When I created Orkut, I just wanted to bring people closer. It wasn’t about metrics or branding — it was about connection. Back then, the Internet still felt full of possibility. People didn’t curate themselves the way they do now. They just showed up: awkward, funny, kind, messy, real. I feel saudade for Orkut because I remember a time when the Internet made us feel closer, not lonelier. When community meant kindness. When connection meant presence.

I feel saudade for Orkut because I remember a time when the Internet made us feel closer, not lonelier.

And then it was gone. No announcement, no goodbye. Orkut was shut down to make room for Google Plus. But the messages I received afterward told me it wasn’t just a website people missed. They missed what it represented: a time when the Internet felt human.

Of course, Orkut wasn’t perfect. There were flaws, and things we didn’t get right. But I’ve come to believe that saudade isn’t about idealizing the past. It’s about recognizing what mattered, and why it hurts to lose it.

Recently, I read Careless People: A Cautionary Tale of Power, Greed, and Lost Idealism by Sarah Wynn-Williams. It’s not just a book about Facebook — it’s a case study in moral failure. Wynn-Williams, a former executive at the company, traces how internal decisions prioritized growth and engagement over human well-being. She shows how Facebook came to treat vulnerability as an opportunity for optimization: teenagers in moments of self-doubt were categorized, tracked, and served content designed to keep them scrolling — even if it deepened their despair.

What struck me most was not just the harm, but the deliberateness. These weren’t system glitches. They were strategic choices made by people who often knew exactly what they were doing.

Wynn-Williams writes with the clarity of someone who’s seen the machine from the inside. Her book isn’t a takedown — it’s a warning. It asks us to reckon with what happens when platforms grow too powerful, when ambition blinds designers to the consequences of their work, when companies become more accountable to their investors than to the people they serve.

And the damage is not abstract. Millions of young people now spend countless hours a day in an ecosystem that quietly corrodes their sense of self. Depression, anxiety, and self-harm are rising sharply among teenagers. Many top executives who helped build these platforms won’t even let their own kids use them. They know the cost.

This did not happen by accident. It happened because decisions were made out of indifference, out of disregard for humanity and society. Decisions made by people in power. People who knew exactly what they were doing. And they made a choice. They chose engagement over mental well-being. They chose growth charts over human dignity.

They chose engagement over mental well-being. They chose growth charts over human dignity.

When Orkut shut down, we didn’t merely lose something technical — we lost something social and cultural, something in our collective psyche. A space where people felt seen. Where connection wasn’t measured in likes, but in meaning. When people say they miss Orkut, I don’t think they miss their previous posts. They missed the feeling of being home. I received messages from users around the world who were able to reconnect with old friends and family, to create and sustain friendships — to find a sense of belonging. "Orkut is the only place I feel seen," I remember someone once telling me.

Saudade reminds us of what was good — and what we’re still capable of building. It doesn’t just look backward. It asks: what do we want from technology now? What would it look like to design tools that prioritize community, dignity, and joy?

You can’t shut down love. You can’t algorithm away meaning.

You can’t shut down love. You can’t algorithm away meaning. If we listen to the feeling of saudade, not just as loss but as memory and promise, it might just point us toward something better. Not a return — but a renewal.