Wittier Word Weavers

Writers' Club of Whittier

Postmortem: a Sequel


In my previous post, I shared about the inconvenient death of my 4s. For four years it held a special place in my palm, on my desk, by my bedside, under my pillow, in short, all the places most intimate to me, as I went about making life happen.

It waited nearby when I took shower in the morning, watched me comb my mane into orderly strands of inky hair, read the newspaper with me and helped me clip out articles or mere sentences that I wanted to share or keep.

When I was engrossed in writing, it silently and patiently kept track of time. Ping! It woke me from my trance to remind me to turn off the stove. Beep! It’s time to pick up the kids from school. Flash! My son just texted. I have almost reached the limit on my voice usage. The water bill is here. Ring! It’s my husband calling; pick my choice: 1) Can’t talk right now 2) on my way 3) Giving you the silence treatment.

It proudly wore my yet-to-be-published memoir cover, bearing witness to my struggle as an emerging author trying to publish and become relevant.

Goodbye, my faithful server!

I found myself woken up by the irritating blare of a nerve-jarring sound (which somebody thought was music) and couldn’t even snooze it on first try. The unfriendly intruder belonged to my daughter. Like owner like machine. It resisted my control in every possible ways, giving the blank stare, barking back, giving trouble, trouble, trouble. I had no idea what it would be capable of and how to communicate to it.

I reached for my 4s when I did not understand the meaning of a word, and it dawned on me that my good old companion would not be there to explain it to me. I would have to go on in a meaningless future.

I would have to replace my loyal servitor with another. Oh!

I would have to forge a new bond, learn my way into the idiosyncrasies of a complete strange device and for the first time, imprint its memory of me and my world.

I would have to teach it to respect and obey me.

Until the day when its silicon soul would merge into my living world, my identity clear, and my superiority well established to it, it would be to me only a dumb machine, an unfriendly gadget in glamorous, shiny armor, lacking an understanding heart.

Back to square one I go.


Author: Hong-My Basrai

Memoirist and author of Behind the Red Curtain, blogger, engineer, manager, mother of three and wife of one, etc. I am a bit of everything.

2 thoughts on “Postmortem: a Sequel

  1. “I would have to go on in a meaningless future.” Hilarious. These devices do embed themselves in our lives, don’t they?

  2. we get attached easily, being so lonely.


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