We matched on Truly Madly on Sunday. I got her number, and met her for coffee in the evening.
We talked for an hour about various things, like our jobs and lives. I let her do most of the talking. She was talkative and even filled the gaps of silence.
Then, she curled her hair over her ear. I grabbed the moment and showed her some of my childhood pictures from years ago. She was floored, and hugged me goodbye.
That night, she messaged me, but took forever to reply to my texts. I had noticed how active she was on Truly Madly and WhatsApp throughout our meeting in the cafe. She was indifferent to me while texting. Gosh, her phone must have blown up with Truly Madly matches by now.
But I pressed on and kept sending messages to Chatty Cathy. However, her online version failed to live up to her chatterbox image.
She was now just a ghost in my smartphone machine. It was a sobering moment. I had spent so many hours waiting for her messages.
And now I had started to feel a slow, gentle burn inside me, when I thought, maybe it's just easier to go back online and find someone else. As for Cathy, she could take up space in my device, rent free.
So, I turned to my WhatsApp contact list. It is full of like-minded (one-track minded) people. I have dozens of them - itching to text me - from across the globe.
They are my digital pets, or pocket pets, always a click away - on my cell phone, in my pocket. (I know it is insulting to call a member of my own species a pet, but still.)
As a pocket pet, one must keep chasing like a mad dog WhatsApp's blue ticks, which appear when someone has read your message. It's tough. You have to bend your digital life around someone for months. And there is only so much puppy love you can channel through a tiny smartphone screen. How much personality can you convey through clicks? But don't worry, the Internet makes it all too easy to transform into this impossibly cool boy, who can be all things to all women: waiting for alerts, night after night.
Take my case. I had become a pocket pet for a while, before my owner gave up on me. She got tired of my whining and scratching and constant messages.
Now, think of all the pets that exist inside my smartphone. And the digital labour that goes into juggling them, rotating them, spending a couple of days with one, and then switching to another, and then back.
My life is filled with ringing and buzzing. Pets give me hurt-look selfies, if I don't sweet-talk to them on time.
Throughout my history of talking to them, they have mostly asked for the same thing: Be nice, or leave. And, as usual, at a point, some have asked for digital intimacy. But I have resisted the urge to let my textual relations go bad over this. Nevertheless, I am considering giving these pets terrible names.
Another problem with keeping online relationships is when great minds don't think alike. In which case, I just let the other person speak. You might not be in the same time zone. You might not be in the same mood. But you have to be on the same wavelength. Other times, they just ask what you are wearing.
This kind of intimacy makes me feel less alone. You may get unsettled at first. But constant updates on what you are wearing, feeling, or doing can help you get out of your head. I feel happier, calmer. Of course, a captive audience of pocket pets helps. But I never take them for granted. Their question - what are you doing pal? - is full of philosophy. It makes me stop and observe what I am feeling or thinking. It makes me see myself most clearly.
We talked for an hour about various things, like our jobs and lives. I let her do most of the talking. She was talkative and even filled the gaps of silence.
Then, she curled her hair over her ear. I grabbed the moment and showed her some of my childhood pictures from years ago. She was floored, and hugged me goodbye.
That night, she messaged me, but took forever to reply to my texts. I had noticed how active she was on Truly Madly and WhatsApp throughout our meeting in the cafe. She was indifferent to me while texting. Gosh, her phone must have blown up with Truly Madly matches by now.
But I pressed on and kept sending messages to Chatty Cathy. However, her online version failed to live up to her chatterbox image.
She was now just a ghost in my smartphone machine. It was a sobering moment. I had spent so many hours waiting for her messages.
And now I had started to feel a slow, gentle burn inside me, when I thought, maybe it's just easier to go back online and find someone else. As for Cathy, she could take up space in my device, rent free.
So, I turned to my WhatsApp contact list. It is full of like-minded (one-track minded) people. I have dozens of them - itching to text me - from across the globe.
They are my digital pets, or pocket pets, always a click away - on my cell phone, in my pocket. (I know it is insulting to call a member of my own species a pet, but still.)
As a pocket pet, one must keep chasing like a mad dog WhatsApp's blue ticks, which appear when someone has read your message. It's tough. You have to bend your digital life around someone for months. And there is only so much puppy love you can channel through a tiny smartphone screen. How much personality can you convey through clicks? But don't worry, the Internet makes it all too easy to transform into this impossibly cool boy, who can be all things to all women: waiting for alerts, night after night.
Take my case. I had become a pocket pet for a while, before my owner gave up on me. She got tired of my whining and scratching and constant messages.
Now, think of all the pets that exist inside my smartphone. And the digital labour that goes into juggling them, rotating them, spending a couple of days with one, and then switching to another, and then back.
My life is filled with ringing and buzzing. Pets give me hurt-look selfies, if I don't sweet-talk to them on time.
Throughout my history of talking to them, they have mostly asked for the same thing: Be nice, or leave. And, as usual, at a point, some have asked for digital intimacy. But I have resisted the urge to let my textual relations go bad over this. Nevertheless, I am considering giving these pets terrible names.
Another problem with keeping online relationships is when great minds don't think alike. In which case, I just let the other person speak. You might not be in the same time zone. You might not be in the same mood. But you have to be on the same wavelength. Other times, they just ask what you are wearing.
This kind of intimacy makes me feel less alone. You may get unsettled at first. But constant updates on what you are wearing, feeling, or doing can help you get out of your head. I feel happier, calmer. Of course, a captive audience of pocket pets helps. But I never take them for granted. Their question - what are you doing pal? - is full of philosophy. It makes me stop and observe what I am feeling or thinking. It makes me see myself most clearly.