I lost my cell phone today. Don’t really know where, but I have an idea that I left it on my locker in school. Ofcourse, when I returned to the spot half an hour later, it wasn’t there. I guess I can just concider it gone forever, since barely anyone in this world is honest any longer.
And I feel this panic, this line of uncontrolled emotions of anger, sorrow and anxiety. Not because the phone was expensive or something. No, I’ve had it for two years or so, and it’s quite damaged, and I was anyway getting a new phone for Yule. No, I’m just feeling a panic of not having it around, a sort of panic that can grow only in the 21st century.
Born in 1992, I can easily say that I’ve been raised into the era of mobile phones and Internet; I remember in the early ’00s, when someone brought her phone to school (when I still went to a local school about 100 metres from my house), and everyone reacted strangely asking her why, what’s the point? Maybe four (including me) in my class of 30 had their own phones, I had my mum’s old Nokia that weight about the same as a modern laptop. But noone carried them around. They were expensive stuff we couldn’t afford losing, and noone brought them around.
Still, I’ve been raised with a cell phone. And a computer. And a TV. And an MP3 player, remembering when you could fit about 15 songs in the 200 megabytes. Remembering when I got my first iPod, with 30 gigabyte. I’ve been raised with this technology. And now I realise, I couldn’t do without it.
And that really hurts.