Social oblivion

It has been 22 days 18 hours and 7 minutes since my iPhone was stolen. That’s just over three weeks since I was wrenched from connectivity and plunged into the isolation of a technological abyss.

I feel like a part of me is missing. Like I’m suspended in a helix of unreality. My subconscious mind still waits to hear my personal theme song ‘Defying Gravity’ ring out to alert me someone is calling. I still reach for the iPhone to check the day’s weather before I get dressed in the morning; to check the traffic to decide which route I’m going to take, or to Shazaam a song I like when I hear it playing in the car or a shopping centre or pub, cafe, restaurant, etc, only to be cursed with that sinking feeling when I remember it’s gone.

I have become intolerably fidgety in waiting rooms and queues because I don’t have Bejewelled or Wordsmith (or any of the other games apps) in my pocket anymore.  I have no idea where anyone is or what they doing/thinking/feeling because I don’t have mobile access to Facebook ― nor can I share where I am by ‘checking in’ or provide commentary on, well, anything at all!

I’ve been lost for the first time in years because I don’t have the GPS in my pocket anymore. You may suggest I read a hardcopy map, but who can fit paper maps for random locations in their pockets, just in case? It’s the same with public transport timetables, instead of inputting my destination and the time I want to get there into an app to get the bus number and  bus stop location ― I now have to ask someone! Crazy.

And music! I don’t own a CD player or speakers, just earbuds and an iPhone dock. My 27 playlists lay dormant in the guts of my computer waiting patiently until it is synced with a replacement device. The auxiliary cord, still plugged into the 12 volt in the car hangs forlornly, waiting… I can’t bring myself to pull it out, it just seems so final.

The video of one of my staffies flipping the cat up into the air only to land on the other, is forever lost because I didn’t sync the phone for a few weeks before it was stolen. Same with the last photos I took of my daughter before she moved overseas to live. Gone.

I don’t know what’s going on in the world without my newsfeeds. I can’t tweet. Or email. Or blog. Wherever I am and whatever I’m doing, I have to wait until I get home and then tune in to old technology like TV and the computer, before I can place myself back into my comfort zone―a broader social and political global context.

I ask myself when I became so reliant on a small flat piece of plastic. The grief is palpable. Many people I know are just as connected and reliant on their smart phones, increasingly so. I suppose this is why the device has gained such currency as to warrant leeching low-lives to steal them by whichever means they can.

It is an affliction of modern society, of city society, that individuals thrive on the immediacy of connectedness to maintain their networks ― social and professional. And it is left only to those existing on society’s fringes as criminals and bludgers, to attempt to subvert this.

Like social media as the lifeblood of modern society, so are the applications on our smartphones…. *sigh…

Robbery Blues

We were robbed the other day. Persons unknown somehow gained entry to our house and stole our stuff. My house mate disturbed them when he arrived home, and the burglars made a quick escape through the back door as he was coming in the front. We’re not sure how they got in. Apart from locking the doors I’ve never worried too much about security despite being in the city for over a year now; it’s a quiet street in a lovely neighbourhood and we’ve felt comfortable and safe here. Until now.

Everyone keeps telling us that we are lucky we did not get hurt. And we are. The burglars didn’t physically harm us. They just stole stuff. I can replace the camera, just not the photos it contained of the holiday in Queensland my daughter shouted me just before she left to live overseas. I can replace credit cards, ATM cards, licenses, medicare cards, and the other stuff. It’s inconvenient but it’s not insurmountable.

The loss of my iPhone was (and remains) incredibly challenging. I didn’t realise how dependent I had become on that little black box.  I haven’t used a hardcopy diary or address book for years, and I was never as vigilant at syncing as I perhaps could have been; so have lost music, videos, photos and all my appointments and contacts. Friends constantly take the piss about my iPhone being an extension of my arm―and it’s true. Was true. I can’t explain why I left it on the arm of the lounge chair when I walked the dogs that day. But again, though I grieve for the phone―it’s just stuff.

The real loss has nothing to do with material possessions. It is something that can never be replaced. Something that can’t be fixed. And it is far worse for my young house mate.

He has lost his faith in people―and his sense of security. That the lowlife/s who robbed us had the power to do this to him makes my blood boil!

Realising for the first time, that there exists people who have no regard for others has been particularly difficult for him. Listening to him try to rationalise and understand the hows and whys of the ‘break and enter’ has been heartbreaking.

I try to reassure him. I tell him I still believe that most people are good. I tell him that I will not allow this incident to challenge my belief that everyone has intrinsic value. I tell him that he needs to put it behind him and stop trying to understand why.

I don’t tell him about the baseball bat that now comes to bed with me.