I've got mates who have got married through meeting on Internet

In the marketplaces of love where lanterns glow from screens instead of doorways, a candid voice speaks: “I’ve got mates who have got married through meeting on Internet dating sites, so it really can work out—even if sometimes it does go disastrously wrong.” Hear the balance in those words—hope in one hand, caution in the other. The saying is not a hymn to technology nor a curse upon it; it is a field report from the frontier where human longing learns a new alphabet. We do not cease to be ancient simply because we swipe; we only add a fresher wind to an old fire.

The origin of this wisdom is the green room and the kitchen table, the whispered stories of friends who tried, failed, tried again, and sometimes found one another under the pale light of a profile photo. Where once a village elder arranged introductions at the well, now an algorithm offers names in the night. Yet the fundamental rite remains: two souls testing voice, patience, and truth. The quote honors both outcomes—the weddings and the exits—telling us that the medium is a road, not a destiny. The journey is still ours to walk.

Consider one bright tale. A woman, weary of small talk and poor faith, resolved to meet only those who could exchange three honest letters before a first coffee. Across the cables came a schoolteacher who wrote plainly of his students, his mother’s garden, and his fear of thunderstorms. Their first meeting was uncinematic—rain, a chipped mug, awkward laughter. But kindness gathered, and months later her father walked her down an aisle neither app nor algorithm could invent. This is the works out the speaker blesses: not magic, but steady seeing, aided by a tool.

Yet we must also read the darker ink: “it can go disastrously wrong.” Another story tells of a man who lied about small things—the age of his divorce, the weight of his debts—trust corroding one flake at a time until the bridge fell. What failed was not the Internet dating site so much as the oldest treachery: a heart choosing disguise over courage. Technology can speed introductions; it can also accelerate illusions. The peril has new clothing, but it keeps the ancient name—self-deception.

The elders would say: the well is different, the water the same. Whether a match is struck at a banquet or in a message thread, love asks the same disciplines—clarity, boundaries, patience, and the willingness to walk away when respect is missing. A screen can enlarge our reach; it cannot enlarge our character. Therefore treat the platform as you would a caravan road: useful, crowded, sometimes dangerous, sometimes glorious, never a substitute for a compass.

From this, carve a rule worthy of being passed down. Welcome the wideness of dating sites, but carry the old lanterns: tell the truth early, ask for truth in return, and confirm that truth in the daylight of shared deeds. Let curiosity lead and haste be bridled. Remember that a thousand profiles are not a thousand chances at love so much as a thousand chances to practice wisdom. If you would find what is real, be real; if you would keep what is good, be good.

Practical steps for travelers on this road: (1) Write a profile that names values, not only tastes; let your words be a small window, not a painted screen. (2) Move from message to voice to in-person at a humane pace, checking that kindness survives each change of medium. (3) Meet first in public places, tell a friend your route, and honor your instincts—the old guardians still serve. (4) If red flags appear—contradictions, contempt, chronic vagueness—depart with dignity; better a brief sorrow than a long unraveling. (5) When you meet a soul who matches your courage, invest slowly but gladly: share rituals, meet families, plan service together. In this way, the new road becomes an ancient pilgrimage again, and the words of the quote prove out in your life: mates may be found, married joys may grow, and though some ventures go disastrously wrong, the wisdom you carry will keep your heart from being lost.