SURELY, advancements in technology, particularly in the realm of cellular communications, have all but simplified everything for us. With continuous improvements which provided easier access year after year, a tipping point was reached when mobiles became necessary extensions of our daily lives. Because of this availability, we have sadly taken them for granted.
I vividly remember many years ago, when my cellular unit suddenly went kaput from overuse and useless overcharging, it was only then that I realized how everything I needed depended on that tiny black thingy.
It had stored over hundreds of writings, saved articles, random notes, passwords, receipts, and photos. In fact, name what people have on their phones, mine has pretty much most of it, too.
As an effective tool for several writing jobs, it even had an app which tips me to write shorter sentences, which I tended to do on streams-of-consciousness mode, and that happens frequently.
See, even the length of the previous sentences had slipped me by. Had that black box been alive, it would have auto-suggested the Hemingway approach, “Shorten your sentences!”
So, during that time, it was almost like I had lost a vital part of me. Giddy for a while, one would catch me trying to remember email passwords, bank PINS, and even silently saying goodbye to HBO and my marathons. What’s more important, I was trying not to panic, dreading future writing deadlines, all because most of the articles’ rough drafts are in there as well.
Oh well, as wisecracks liked to tell me, when it rains, it’s poor. And literally indeed, that’s when sheet happens. For a while, I resorted to writing on paper again, and that resulted in churning out a cruel revelation.
Whoever said a doctor’s penmanship resembled “kinahig sa manok” (chicken scratches) should also check the writing styles of all other cell phone zombies.
I recall writing for a full hour when I momentarily stood up to get a glass of water. When I returned to my notes, I could no longer read what I wrote! What laid before me were scrawls reminiscent of my college years’ early morning steno lessons under Ms. Auring de Leon, and to think, barely even passed those.
To compound things, I knew it was going to take a while, as it might be a week until we could finally visit a more reliable repair shop downtown. The only other consolation at the time – – our reliable Dell PC which I had only used for Solitaire and Photoshop.
While it may not have been as handy as my pocket marvel, in a sense, it was like a big brother, immovable but likewise with its own irresistible appeal. The problem was, at the time, that old PC was shared by all of us in the house.
As I got back to using pen and paper, my old habits of dilly-dallying, drawing and doodling, all favorite high school pastimes, returned with a vengeance. A paragraph here and elephant drawings would appear. A note later, is followed by concentric lines and stars. Finishing a piece took an awful time.
But looking back now, I realize that losing that dopamine source had not really been so bad after all. So what if much of what I’ve worked on was imprisoned in that cellphone, resulting in panicky moments. With them lying idle somewhere in Dante’s digital limbo, I learned a thing or two about being a slave. The grass is always greener on the other side of the septic tank, says Bombeck.
