I’ve been obsessed with my phone since the get go. When I held my first Nokia 5110 in my hands, it was like something lit up inside of me. This black box, that was small enough to fit into my 13 year old hands, wasn’t a bundle of wires and copper - no, it was an endless opportunity.
No more restrictions from my corded home phone - no need to sit in my dad’s dark office, having hushed and fervent conversations in the time before he got home. There were suddenly no limits to the people I could talk to, or how long I could make that snake grow, as it coiled back and forth across the screen.
Friendships and childhood crushes blossomed through 160 character texts, and the agonising decision of which messages would make the cut when the inbox inevitably filled up was crushing.
The most exciting message of my young life came through that phone.
Be still my teenage heart (Loughlin, if you’re out there - hi boo). It goes without saying, but that message survived the inbox cull. For a time at least, until I delivered the first of many tragic blows that would come through my thumbs.
Teenage romance is brutal.
Flash forward a few years to the LG KG220 - in baby pink of course. Flip phones were everywhere, slid into low riding jeans pockets and hanging precariously from shirt fronts. Polyphonic ringtones bounded across the quad and flip tones gave away any secret, under-desk texting.
I couldn’t have loved my first camera phone more. Bearing pictures of me and my friends with our cascading side fringes and studded belts, the instant camera button meant we captured every moment. We would gather around the 2.2-inch screen and choose which picture was good enough to Bluetooth to that cute guy on the bus.
Dating apps weren’t really a thing, so we had to be creative. Sitting on the bus after school, i’d change my Bluetooth name to, “backseat on the left” and send off the chosen picture, hoping against hope that “guy at the front” would send something back.
Alas, our love was not meant to be. From that tragedy, new love blossomed within my hot pink Motorola Razr. That sexy little thing was enough to build anyone’s confidence. Featured in movies like the Devil Wears Prada, how could you not feel powerful with it in your hands.
Asserting my independence has never felt better than hanging up on my mum, with a bold flip of the phone. Honestly, I think I’m still chasing that high.
My childhood friend had called me on my Razr, inviting me to her birthday party. Anxious, but with my trusted distraction device in hand, I went. If it wasn’t for that phone, I would have never met my first love. We spent that party throwing pencils at each other, correcting people’s spelling and I left with his name written on me (literally).
The Razr harboured my first real relationship. It was how we organised our first date, and how we would say good morning and good night, sometimes sleeping with it on loud so we wouldn’t actually have to. The messages stored on the internal memory were a flip book story of how we fell in love. Banter progressed into stories, which turned into teenage professions and eventually angst.
It was the exact same phone that brought so much joy, that I found myself sobbing uncontrollably into as I begged my mum to come and pick me up when it all ended.
Times and tech change and soon enough I moved on, and straight into the Hiptop Slide. Manufactured by Danger Inc before being taken over by Motorola - the Danger Slide seemed like the most apt option for a rebellious teenage girl.
The QWERTY keyboard was perfect for logging on and chatting to Myspace friends. But the unlimited call and text package was all I really needed. For you see, it had happened again - I was in love.
I remember how I had panicked that one night in Hawks Nest. Rain pummeled the sidewalk, and I staggered along - with my Slide in hand - trying to find the safety of the holiday rental. In the chaos, I’d dropped it into a puddle. A deep puddle. Water filled up to my elbow as I reached down to save my precious phone.
It was touch and go while I did everything you weren’t supposed to do to save my Hiptop. Pulling it apart and blasting the hair dryer, I feared that I would never again feel the smooth slide click in, before putting it back in my pocket again.
Danger was an apt moniker, because no matter how uncertain the situation was, that phone always pulled through for me. Until that dreary night, when it didn’t.
Many moons passed while I waited for another to grab my heart in the way it had been so many times before. My fingers slid across the Samsung Galaxy S4 screen, eventually hovering on the infamous square of flames - Tinder.
My fingers slid left and right, making split second decisions about who was worth the time of day, and battery life to talk to. This was the screen that I was staring at when I met my husband.
We matched, and the notifications began. I couldn’t remember the last time I had my phone off silent, but I made a bespoke vibration for when he would message. So no matter what happened, we would never miss a chance to talk.
Other apps bolstered our relationship. Snapchatting puns, and chatting on Messenger so I could see when he was actually online. My Galaxy’s external memory diminished as ours grew, adding photo after photo as we traveled across Europe. When the time came to move across to iOS, it was a no-brainer because it meant connecting was easier.
It was the iPhone XS that we used to FaceTime our friends and family that night we got engaged. It took selfies on our wedding day, and housed every apartment, car and AirBnb we considered. It’s the phone we used to share our locations with one another, and forced our friends to do the same - just in case they got taken in Bali.
There have been a lot of phones I’ve loved in my life. Classics that brim with nostalgia, and broken screens that scream of uproarious nights - all but forgotten if not for the saved messages and hasty Facebook statuses.
I thought I’d lost the feeling of absolute possibility that the Nokia 5110 sent through me, all those years ago. But as I sit here now, watching my phone light up - I wonder who it is that’s reaching out, and what that comment I was just tagged in is about. I’m realising that the possibilities now are still what makes me obsessed with my phone. Every single smile inducing, and heart wrenching connection that comes with it.
Anula Wiwatowska
Offsite Editorial Lead | Instagram
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