Bebsism’s Emo mode: Numb – U2
I don’t know if it’s just my obsolete phone or Mercy’s five chikka.com messages per second that laid him to rest. My 3510 was dead. Then I realized he had no name. Not a syllable at all. Not even on his death.
Four years ago, my Nokia 7110 was Ella (short for Elastic) because she had rubber bands all over her body. My stolen P900 was TD (‘coz I was able to buy that phone from my ‘Twilight Dancers’ talent fee). This particular phone, which I bought at Sta. Lucia East with Nuelle, should have been named ‘Booba’ to remember Nuelle by. But for reasons I couldn’t remember anymore, 3510 remained nameless.
‘Nameless’ never complained when I set him aside in favor of TD. He was just there, not a wink nor a word so I’d take him back. Back, then, I loved TD because he was everything a phone should be. Sleek, hi-tek, a perfect accessory for flamboyance and showing off. When TD was stolen, I had no choice but to use ‘nameless’ back.
He must have been smiling widely. The same smile I saw on his face when I bought him at a second hand cellphone store. Did he feel the same when his former owner traded him for a cellphone more beautiful and more updated than he was?
For three years, he was with me. Rejection, sexcapades, clandestine affairs, poverty, abundance. He was my storage of secret messages I’ve never shared with anyone else. He knew my daily activities, my thoughts, the movie concepts that I wanted do, the list of songs I wanted to download everytime I saw them on late night tv.
He cried with me during heart breaks but still, his ringtone remained Sugarfree’s Burnout. He had in his phone book numbers of important people in showbiz and politics. Directors, Actors, Editors, Cinematographers, Showbiz Executives, Congressmen.
And just like that. He shut down without any warning. I couldn’t open my Inbox anymore. I thought my Globe sim was not functioning so I bought a new one to no avail. It must be the phone.
I saved messages way, way back. Important messages with sentimental value. Messages from people who mattered much to me. Most of these messages were from the person I had my heart on for more than two years.
At that moment, I faced a difficult situation. If I erase everything in my Inbox (which I thought wasn’t working because it was already full), then that means, I’d erased years of my life. If I was going to erase these messages from years back, how would I feel?
Without much thought, I pushed the delete button and poof.
Nothing changed. Not even the dark room I was in nor the light from the full moon. I must have moved on from the loss of my cellphone. And from him whom I spent years of my life with. Or have I?
I felt a sudden rush of cluelessness. I wanted an answer from myself. Though it didn’t come too easy, I knew that somehow I have moved on. Together with the loss of an old cellphone and hundreds of messages from the one who I spend my years with, I was glad I didn’t have to feel the hurt had I deleted the messages a year ago.
Like any form of loss, moving on is subjective. Surreal but subjective.
I still don’t have a new phone. But I think it’s safe for me to say, I’m a new person already.