Dear 2g phone

Dear 2g Phone

            How cold you must be. In this freezing weather, when everyone is armed with multiple layers of clothing, not only do you not have a glossy case like other phones, your back is bare. I remember: it was about three days ago. I dropped you in my dorm room from the desk. It must have been about a meter from the ground, 20 times your height. The impact of the fall ruthlessly tore you apart into three pieces: body, battery, and back cover.

            Had it been a normal person, he would have instantaneously screamed, picked up his phone, and meticulously checked for any scratches. He would have been shocked that his phone was disintegrated. He would have felt pity. Oh, but my dear 2g phone, not me. I merely cast a glance and left you there, for I was busy typing on my lab top. You lay there, like that lame potato in Toy Story. While leaving the room after a while, I quickly swooped up your body and battery, leaving your back cover on the ground. I carelessly plugged the battery into your body and plunged you into the darkness of my Nubi’s pocket.

Why I have become so accustomed to dropping you and watching you fall apart is simple. First, I have done it too many times. Not only have I dropped you out of mistake, I have thrown you high in the air to see what happens. Out of sympathy still left inside me, I have thrown you on grass and snow only. The result has been fascinating; you endured every fall, no matter how high. I wonder why you are so sturdy when your worthless body has no function to preserve. My intellectual curiosity tempts me to shatter you on concrete, but we will see. Watching you fall apart has been my joy. But don’t get too upset, my friends have laughed as well. My advice: befriend loneliness.

Second, I’m not fond of you. I’m not desperate for a smart phone, but I do think that a smart phone would better serve my life. Playing your tedious games inevitably makes me curse the day when I lost my iphone three years ago in a noraebang. The moment I’m typing these words, a friend of mine is playing with a Galaxy S3 a racing game with fantastic graphics that would probably make you explode if you were to run it.

Dear phone, you are probably shivering in cold. I can barely imagine how I would feel when the skin of my back is sliced off in this weather. But what can I do? When I was cleaning my room today, I saw no trace of your back cover. Will I search again when I go back? No, I’ve got more important business, such as doing Facebook.

But don’t get discouraged by this letter, because I do have a plan for you. I’m not just going to hurl you into the trash. I have learned that as time passes and smart phones dominate the world, you become somewhat ‘special’. Of course, nobody wants you now. But after decades, when you transcend the concept of obsolescence and define the adjective ‘primitive’, I shall sell you off to some museum and earn big money. You don’t need to do much. Just endure two or more decades hopelessly wishing that someone would find your back cover. Good luck buddy.