Kaili McDonnough, Freelance Writer
IT SEEMS like only yesterday that I'd bought my first cell phone. A college mate had kept telling me about the wonders of the cell phone and had highlighted the cellular's most compelling feature, which according to him was, "no one will ever really know where you are, but they will always be able to reach you, if you want."
This cellular phone sounded perfect, as during college I would often get interrogating calls from my family about my study time. At the time, I was more interested in talking about the last party that I had attended than discussing academics. Owning a cell gave me an escape from these gruelling talks, as now I could see in real time who was calling and depending on my mood, answer or reject the call. Gone would be the days of concerned messages from my mother on friends' answering machines asking about my whereabouts; now she could call on my cell and spare me the embarrassment.
WHOLESOME BOND
Fast forward nine years. Life had taken a natural transition from flighty college student to a responsible working professional. My cell phone, Nokia, had followed me far and wide in my endeavours and his usage had spanned two continents, several countries, tons of voice mails and numerous text messages. By now Nokia and I had formed a wholesome bond. We did almost everything together; when I took a shower he was there, when I retired to bed at night he lay right next to my pillow, and in the morning when I awoke, his was the first voice that I would hear.
Unfortunately, spending so much time together created problems for Nokia and me, as I had become so dependent on having Nokia by my side at all times. So there were rare occasions, when, in a haste I would forget Nokia at home; those days were terrible and would drag on slowly until I was able to get home to retrieve him. Then there were the times that I would misplace Nokia and spent days trying to retrace my steps to figure out where he was, poor abandoned soul, now subject to tons of unanswered calls and a full voice mail box.
With Nokia's features constantly being updated I became hooked on him. Now instead of just being able to make calls I could also send emails, surf the web, send instant messages, play Snake 2 and take pictures. I was in awe of him, but I knew that he was engulfing my world.
The situation got to the point where I felt as if I could not do without him, but at the same time he was driving me crazy. What had originally been the driving force for getting Nokia had turned out into my biggest nightmare, as Nokia's incessant ringing had become a nuisance. I resented that people called Nokia just to chit-chat; after all, weren't calls to cellular phones only to be made in emergency situations?
Aware of our dysfunctional relationship, I took action and put an end to the relationship with Nokia by cancelling his service. At first, not having him around proved to be an inconvenience, as now I was unable to reach for him whenever I needed a phone fix. Life without Nokia was hard (finding a land line was not always so easy, these days even shopkeepers are stingy with free calls) and although I missed him, it was rejuvenating to have him out of my life. Without my shadow, Nokia around, I felt liberated and free. No longer was I interrupted when at the gym or out shopping, as callers were left with no choice other than to attempt to reach me at home. Gone was the need to be in constant communication, now I could call and answer calls at my convenience.
NOT FITTING
As much as life without Nokia felt fresh and invigorating, the situation was not fitting professionally nor personally. Getting in touch with me had become increasingly difficult and what eventually happened was that my landline stopped ringing, as friends and family became frustrated with their inability to get through to me in real time.
I became jealous when I saw my friends chatting away on their shiny cellulars, and eventually I found myself pining to hear Nokia's familiar ring. Thirteen months after letting go of Nokia, I had a 'meltdown' and one morning removed him from his resting place, dusted him off and signed him back up for service. There was only one way that the relationship between Nokia and I would work this time, and that entailed me toning down my dependence on him.
And so, Nokia and I started a new phase of our lives together. Being selective with whom I gave his number really seemed to work, as he rang less and that made me happy. In turn, I exercised self-control was able to tame my need to for his constant presence. With my new lease on life I even started turning him off when I was not expecting a call.
To date, the space between us has done wonders, and today we are existing as one joyous unit.
