Texting

I find the ping of a message arriving delightful. Every day without fail, I recieve a minimum three-word-message from my friend almost a million miles away in India. She’s sent me a text daily — we go back and forth, our messages split between school hours and lunch breaks. Admittedly, I thought she was someone I would never talk to again, the distance between us countries away. But we still somehow text, call, and even meet each other, three years on. 

I often find, on days when the clock ticks towards midnight, as my parents are fast asleep and I’m wrestling with yet another college essay, that she’s always awake. Being two and a half hours behind me, I have calculated in my mind that when she is out of school, I am finishing up debate club. When she stays up until 2 in the morning (her time), I am awake at 4:30 (my time) to finish my abandoned assignments. And it’s her texts, asking me how are you doing? or good luck on your AP exams — that are eerily always on time no matter how late it is —  that serve as an anchor for me. 

My first foray into the wonders of instant messaging was on my 13th birthday. That was the first phone I received when I was in 8th grade (criminally late for my generation). My first text on my iPhone 6 was delivered to my parents on our first family group chat titled “My Gene Pool”: Hii. I said in excitement (although my parents sat in front of me as I typed up that message).  From then, texting became an extension of my life. Needed something from my mom? I texted her. Had to remind myself in the future? I typed a message up on WhatsApp. Required gossip? I messaged my friends. I was new to this game, called The Art of The Text while the people around me were reigning champions, kingpins in the business. 

There have been times that I have (not purposefully) misrepresented conversations over text. My family members regularly respond with question marks every time I use words meant for my friends (see: the time my conservative Indian parents asked me to define WTF). As I learned, I found a subtle exquisiteness of crafting the ideal text for my audience, and I would analyze the rhetorical effectiveness of switching to all lowercase (hey how are you?), grammatical perfection (Hi, How are you?), or colloquial slang (how ru).

This August, I resolved to reach out to old friends I had fallen out of touch with. I promised myself that I would send one text on Instagram, and let the DM deities take control of the rest. From my best kindergarten friend in Toronto, my second-grade lunch buddy in Bangkok, and a fifth-grade classroom friend pursuing her soccer dreams in the U.S. — I sent them a text reaching out. My messages crossed countries and traversed timezones – and people responded when I sent that first text.. 

Today, September 23rd, is my birthday — the same day I received my first phone — and I am a seasoned texter. As I’ve grown up, I’ve been forced to use my phone in an increasingly utilitarian way or place it into a basket as I walk into classes. Almost half of my texts are transactional now : Have you submitted that club form? When are we meeting today? What’s for dinner today? 

But for those I cherish, I will send you a delightful little text, my full love behind it.