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Cellphones - can’t live with them, can’t live without them.
– Tom R, a classmate of mine, yesterday lost his mobile phone (now predominantly called and spelled a “celfon” in the Philippines) while riding in a crowded metro rail transit from Ortigas to Cubao on his way to attend a birthday-cum-class-reunion party. He looked rather distressed and worried, like a man whose wallet had just been pickpocketed, and all the most intimate secrets and private items in his life mercilessly exposed to the underworld and organized crime. He felt violated.
To make matters even worse, he got very little sympathy at the party from his other classmates. They chided him for keeping his celfon in a soft leather pouch attached to his belt. They showed him some of the best techniques for taking care of this now indispensable and valuable accessory. They kept reminding him to report the matter to NTC and to have that celfon/no. “blocked” – as if that would deter those enterprising criminals who now dismantle these things and sell every usable part as they would stolen car parts and accessories in Banaue (not the rice terraces). They seemed to forget that Tom was not thinking or worried about the electronic device itself as much as some irreplaceable, invaluable items, like some phone numbers not even the CIA is privy to.
Incidentally, isn’t it rather lamentable that some street names eventually get known not for the heroes and great men they are supposed to represent but for the commodities sold therein? Who has ever heard or cared to know about Epifanio de los Santos who stood up against Japanese imperialism in WWII? WWwhat? Aren’t you forgetting that it’s “www” typed in the lower case followed by .com? Oh, did you mean EDSA, the lady who invented people power?
Recto used to be synonymous with nationalism, great lawyering, statesmanship. Now it’s where you go to get a fake diploma, a birth certificate, a fake driver’s license, a fake certificate of apprenticeship. Recto now means anything fake or “peke.” Or, to be more polite, it’s also the current terminal station of LRTII. Ermita used to be known as a “meat/flesh market” until Mayor Lim drove the girls to Makati. Sta. Cruz has very little to do with religion. All in all, it’s a great lesson on the fickleness of fame.
Nowadays, a celfon is something you don’t leave home without. It is something you keep close to your chest. That’s how most teenagers keep their celfons. It has replaced the necklace or heirloom locket. How much gas has been wasted by people driving back home to retrieve a celfon they may have forgotten – before the misis gets to it. How many marriages have been ruined because of a celfon ringing at the wrong time and place? I myself keep my celfon in the trunk of my car. That way it’s safe from pickpockets and I have an excuse for ignoring that most annoying or threatening text message of all – WRU.
How did people ever manage to live without a celfon? The first time I handled a celfon less than 10 years ago, I had to have a piece of paper to go with it containing some notes on how to operate the new-fangled thingamajig. I used to pride myself walking down the street conversing with someone on the other end, much like the excitement amateur or ham radio aficionados must have felt in decades past. I remember that doctors used to gauge their self-importance by the number of beeps they got from their pagers.
I knew that celfons are here to stay when our maid got herself her own celfon.
By their celfons you shall know them. It’s the new status symbol. Your celfon is not just a simple device to replace the bulky telephone. Now, it’s got to have a camera, not just an ordinary camera, mind you, but one with all kinds of capabilities that would impress even a professional photographer. It’s also a radio, a video player, recorder, music player, organizer and whatever else the ordinary civilized person needs to do except use it as toilet paper. It’s equipped with a Bluetooth, it connects to your computer, you can watch Katrina (not the typhoon) in it, it’s your clock and alarm clock, it’s a memo/notes pad, timer, stopwatch, calculator. It’s a music DJ, video DJ, photo DJ. Children use it like Nintendo. GROs use it to bring in customers.
I am suspicious of people who use and maintain two celfons. Life is mysterious and complicated enough with one celfon let alone two. If you need two celfons it only means you’re carrying a heavy load. You don’t know if you’re coming or going. Slow down – and try to avoid using your celfon while driving.
They gifted me with a new celfon for my last birthday recently. It’s been more than two weeks now and I still have to learn how to use the damn thing. It’s just too complicated and completely unnecessary for somebody who still prides himself with having memorized the Morse code and the Boy Scout semaphore code. Why do I need a celfon with touch screen, handwriting recognition and virtual keyboard, for goodness sake. Who needs an 8GB storage expandable to 16GB when the most I can expect to get these days is one or two corny SMS jokes or SMART messages selling ringtones and using up your precious load in the process?
No wonder the Senators decided to get in on the act by conducting a Senate investigation into the case of the disappearing “load.” Nowadays, when young people talk about having a problem with their load, they are not talking about their college units, homework or assignments.
Father’s day has just come and gone. The cellphone service providers must have had another windfall with people sending millions of text messages in lieu of that expensive Hallmark greeting card. In fairness though, I have witnessed a moderately heavy traffic leading to the Marikina memorial park on Father’s day. It means that fathers usually die ahead of everybody else.
Most of the text messages I got on Father’s day were rather corny and passé. People don’t really seem to know what to say. I got a text which said: “Enjoy your Father’s Day. The next one will be ‘Mother’s Day.’”
Seriously though, there’s something good to be said about people sending cute little text messages to each other. It’s the modern way of keeping in touch, of reminding your friends and loves ones that you care about them enough to send them Pollyanna text messages. Some of these I have kept in my celfon for years. Some of my all-time favorites:
- “We have never too much time for gladdening the hearts of those who are traveling the dark journey with us. Oh, be swift to love, make haste to be kind.”
- “God balances our lives by giving us enough blessings to keep us happy and enough burdens to keep us humble.”
- “Maglasing tayo!”
- “Mrs: Bakit tuwing kumakanta ako, lumalabas ka ng bahay. Hindi mo ba gusto ang boses ko?” “Mr: Di naman. Gusto ko lang malaman ng mga kapitbahay na hindi kita sinasaktan.”
- Wife to husband walking around naked: “The neighbors can see your penis!” Husband: “So they can, so what?” Wife: “They’ll think I married you for your money.”
best article on 'celpons' 
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Kuya RENE, sori if I titilated you into ejaculating all those acronyms and abbreviations. I believe it's time you devoted more time into writing your own honest-to-goodness blogs instead of simply overreacting to my humble bloggetts. You deserve a wider readership. anyway, tnx agn. rgards...
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Cell phones, like other gadgets, have their own intrinsic value, but the ultimate value lies with their user.
A thought i had on the cell phone years back: People want to communicate. People need to communicate. People want to get in touch. People need to get in touch. People need to touch other people. People need to be touched by other people. People want and need to be heard. People want and need to be listened to. People need other people. You and i need other people. We need one another. Day in day out. Night and day. Everyday. Katunayan: Bilangin natin ang mga txt messages na pinapadala natin araw-araw, araw at gabi, at ang mga natatanggap nating mga txt messages mula sa ating mga kakilala, minsan pa nga kahit sa di natin mga kakilala. Tama ka na naman, Kuya James: Now, we can't live without a cell phone/s. |
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butchcelestial wrote on Jun 24, '09
. . . . (gasp . . . !) what are you 'grasping' at, my friend . . . . . |
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