Text and the city

Deng, deng deng... jackpot!

Here comes another text and as I hold my breath between those moments when Toots, my cell phone, switches to "inbox," I look casually at the computer screen to occupy those eternal seconds and insert a dash where it wouldn’t have mattered. Then, yes! It’s him. A message. A reply.

So casually he tells me that "there are so many beautiful butterflies in Baguio. I feel so lucky to have the opportunity to be so in touch with nature." It’s me he is texting. He must love me or why would he tell me about butterflies?

Then my reply. Got to be casual because too many heartbeats over a cell inbox might scare the man away on his first text. There is time. He can wait. What shall my next text be? Should I just jump right in and ask him to hug me (by text) or should we proceed gently and go back to talking about the sky? An inspired thought. Let me see how involved he is with me and boldly, using the dictionary on this 3310, I text, "When you look at the sky, think of me."

Eagerly, I press the send button and watch with Belgian Mallinois stare, making sure that even the missiles of the marines cannot interfere with this very important message. Yes, blessed technology. His proposal (that was a proposal, wasn’t it?) has been accepted and now I’m off to glide over my work as I await the confirmation of his devotion through the next text.

Truth is, I met him only once. We chatted for about an hour. The conversation went all right. Happily, it was one-sided. I asked the questions; he revealed himself. Perhaps he felt he liked me because I agreed with everything he said. What is one to do? First rule with interviews is to encourage the celebrity to talk. Nod your head, smile and take down notes.

So, Shaun spoke and fortunately I caught his eye. It’s more likely that his eyes are as active as his brain so it wouldn’t surprise his friends that once more he has discovered another girl worthy of flirting with. Whatever, it’s me...the flavor of today and I feel pretty and happy and gay. Oh what a life... to know that I’m wanted so.

You must understand that all this euphoria is happening by text. What are the guidelines for conducting a text affair? Rules alone may be unable to stem the tide of emotion that can emit from this matchbox phone. No tradition can tell me what is right or wrong so I need to find out now what the boundaries are.

Help. A teenager would know. "Well, let the man text first. Some girls text the boys first but I wait. Sometimes he doesn’t text for a week. And when he sends me a message, that’s when I reply." A week! Could I live with that wait? And who decides to stop texting? "That’s irrelevant," she opines. What do you mean? In a phone conversation, the girl usually hints the goodbye. "With texting, it’s whoever is sleepy first."

The answers still elude me. Perhaps teenager standards are different from Sex and the City ladies like me. So I called Monica and gushed through with a passionate description of my hunger for his next text message and she said: "You are having oral text!"

"As you get more excited, ask for more and more text. Don’t stop. Keep texting. And finally, when you’ve had enough, say ‘Ah.’" Then Monica added, "Does your phone vibrate?" Where does one put a period?

Is There Courtship After Oral Text?

Why does this affair seem so funny? Just because instead of holding hands I am clutching my phone Toots. Will the time come when Toots takes a life of its own and we go out for a date? The question is: Does oral text count as having an affair? Does going steady with two or more Shauns make me a pok-pok texter ?

Going text-steady has its advantages. One’s ardor is documented. There is comfort in seeing Shaun’s messages saved on the outbox.

Pakipot, the art of flirting coyly and playing hard to get before giving in. The question is: What is the role of pakipot in text affairs? With messages flying back and forth every 20 minutes or so, it is obvious that the focus of both people would have to be on their cell phone. It is useless to fake surprise or be casual about the interchange. Gone also is the "I was just passing by" line.

The best pakipot one can do is to stall the reply for a minute or two.

And now, after all these thoughts, he proposes we meet. Yes, Alice, there is someone behind those text messages. A real live person that hopefully knows what he wants and has the passion to go for it.

I psyche myself up for that eventual meeting with Shaun. Will it be on his territory or mine? A quick hi? Do I cuddle up into his arms as our messages have been quite intimate or do I extend my hand in a formal shake since this is only the second time we meet?

It’s Ended Before It’s Begun

Affairs define their meaning by their ending. By the very nature of the relationship, affairs are consummated and eventually end. Affairs by text sometimes end when the battery goes dead or one runs out of credit.

In Shaun’s case, the end was sudden. The inbox testified that indeed I had a text-steady relationship: his name was scrawled on every message received and saved. Yes, indeed there was an affair that triggered at least 12 messages which I read again and again. Yesterday morning’s greetings that talked about a beautiful sunrise blended with last night’s romantic text, which said, "Wish you were here. The stars are amazingly bright; so beautiful, like your eyes." And yet, today, Toots is silent. Our tango is over. After two days of gliding in love, he dropped me.

Unlike the olden days when a proper break off to a relationship was in order, text affairs are easier to end; they are more fragile, too. Each message tests the strength of the bonding. A corny joke could give the wrong impression. Too serious a reply might cause him to run.

That was my mistake. I got too involved and punched in, "Do we have a relationship? Since yesterday, all my attention has been focused on this phone and your messages. Are we going text-steady?"

As the options button clicked on to send, I knew deep inside that the stakes were on the table. I gambled with intimacy and Shaun understood. He declined. No reply. Four hours I waited. An eternity.

My phone, which was once so alive with joyful thoughts, had lost its spirit. Toots is again inanimate. I picked up my soul-less mate and pondered on the pains of "You’ve Got No Text."

I felt the need to prepare for future relationships: No sex with my texter mate until our wedding night.

Perhaps someone stole his cell phone and Shaun is still desperately trying to run after the motorbike thief. With a heavy heart, I erased all the inbox messages, removed his Sweet Dreams name from my phone book and blessed him God-speed from my memory.

I have much to learn.