HONORING MY MOTHER | Having a say

THE advancements in modern technology, particularly in the realm of cellular communications, have all but simplified everything to the finest bit, that we have all but sadly taken for granted. When my much-too-advanced-for-me mobile unit suddenly went kaput from overcharging the other day, it was only then that I realized how pretty much everything I needed for ordinary writing depended on that tiny black thingy. Over hundreds of articles, notes, passwords, receipts, photos you name it. Sunk as the titanic.

See, even the length of the previous sentence has slipped me by, whereas had that black box still been alive today, it would have suggested the Hemingway approach, “cut your sentences short”.

So, it’s almost like this boomer’s lost a vital part over here. Giddy for a while, trying to remember passwords and such (as all’s been saved in there somewhere), silently saying goodbye to HBO’s On the Job next episodes and then shaking off the panic of writing deadlines because all the rough drafts sleep in there as well. That’s another long sentence, see.

Oh well, when it rains, it’s poor and indeed, sheet happens. For a while, I’ve resorted to writing on paper and that in itself had been a cruel revelation. 

Whoever said a doctor’s penmanship is nothing but “kinahig sa manok” (chicken scratches) should check the writing styles of all cell phone zombies. I was writing for a full hour when I momentarily stood up to get a glass of water. When I returned to my notes, I couldn’t read what I wrote! What lay before me were scrawls reminiscent of my college years’ steno lessons and to think, I have barely even passed those, Mrs. de Leon’s early morning classes. 

To compound things, I know this is going to last me a while, as it might be a week at the most until we could finally visit a more reliable repair shop downtown. The only consolation is the reliable Dell PC which I have only used for Solitaire. It may not be as handy as my pocket marvel but it’s like a big brother, in the sense that right now, its being immovable has likewise become its own irresistible appeal. Then I could also go back to pen and paper.

The problem is once I do, my old habit of drawing and doodling, favorite high school pastimes, return with a sweet vengeance. Then I realize, not much has changed after all. So, I think I’m going to linger here for a while. In the end, so what if much of what I’ve accomplished sits in a matchbox-of-a-cellphone that’s presently in limbo?

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