This smartphone!

Life is precious. A life nicely lived is worth mentioning. But a life that remains stagnant, and unproductive is what is the issue. My whole world was stagnant. It remained so for nearly a decade.

I could see things unfold before me, yet I was blind. I could hear things scream to me, yet I was deaf. I could sense people conversing with me, yet I was numb, unresponsive.

   

What could have lead my life to such an extend that I no longer felt anything. That I fell prey to depressive tendencies. That I no longer was me. This smartphone!

Oftentimes, I would catch myself watching useless videos on YouTube for hours on end. Switching from Facebook to Twitter to Instagram to WhatsApp was what mattered to me the most.

No talking to the family, friends or relatives. The Internet was something divine to me-I was its best slave. And it was my master. A master I wanted to break free from. But frustrated me couldn’t punch it in the face and make it weak enough to not take control over me.

My frustration was so intense that quite often suicidal ideations would cross my mind. This frustration would come every minute of not using my smartphone and murdering innocent time.

This much of an addictive behaviour that had robbed me of the fantastic organ my brain had to be dealt with come high or hell water. I mustered the courage of picking a phone without Internet.

A nice-looking innocent phone; its face speaking volumes of its pros. A number dialled in case of emergency, and it being pretty good at letting me know about the one I dialled number of.

That was that. No making me a slave. No murdering time. No damaging my health. No trying to make me feel ashamed of myself. And no making me take shelter in the lonely corner of my room and damaging my brain cells.

It has been a relief I craved for years. The damaged me is healing. My ears are beginning to function the way it should have been in times of my Internet obsession.

My brain is beginning to become adept at understanding the issues I swept under the carpet when I was the slave.

My guardians are happy that I listen to them and that I finally take pleasure in what really matters in the real world – in-person visits and conversations.

Faizaan Bashir is a post-graduate student of History at Kashmir University

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article are the personal opinions of the author.

The facts, analysis, assumptions and perspective appearing in the article do not reflect the views of GK.

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