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Wednesday, April 1, 2009

Thursday entry: Communication

Three days ago, my life was changed entirely over a matter of two seconds. Being grouped into the mass of people who are messaged at least three times a month by the unlucky souls who have somehow mutilated their cell phones, I was unaware of the anxiety that such an event could bring. Rather than acknowledging these misfortunes, I usually just allow my humor to make light of the situation (this is especially easy when I am uninvolved). There was something in watching my Razor and our three-year relationship drown at the bottom of a toilet that made me want to do everything but laugh.

I realized that life is very difficult without a phone. I felt helpless and disconnected from everyone I knew. The nights I spent coming home from work, I was certain it would be my time to encounter danger and not have access to contacting safety. It was oddly depressing when I experienced the desire to hang out with friends and every person I had ever met to relieve my loneliness, and instead felt I would never see them again in the absence of my phone. After I allowed myself to process what had happened, I started thinking in a proactive way rather than dwelling on the initial response of my emotions. I had taken for granted the convenience and accessibility that owning a working cell phone provided, but it was not the only means of communicating with people. My mom actually initiated an email conversation to make sure I was still alive; it bounced between us and stemmed into permanent documents of appreciation and care, a visual proof of the affection that exists but sometimes has trouble expressing itself in person.

Similar to the heightened senses of the blind, I felt I was forced to absorb my environment in ways that were very different from what I was used to. I soon grew accustomed to the discomfort, and it only made me that much more aware of the relationships existing between everything. This understanding dissolved my feelings of captivity; I no longer felt lost and alone but free.

I find that words and pictures are equally informative: uniformly limiting, comparably deceiving. Images can communicate almost immediately, where as the language of writing requires more time to process, providing a greater possibility to transform in meaning. This is why I am attracted to the function of titles: how they have the power to alter perception solely through their presence is just as fascinating as their ability to be disregarded completely.

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