JessicaRulestheUniverse.com

The band had just started playing “Ligaya” when the guy in front of me started sending out text messages. Whoever you are, I’m sorry I read your messages but I couldn’t help it, your phone was in my face. His message read, “Pare nasa Fort kami ang galing galing ng Eheads concert the best!” (We’re at the Fort the Eheads concert is great!) This is not how he spelled it, I just can’t remember txt. Then he sent it to everyone in his directory—I know because the names appeared on the screen one by one, in alphabetical order, as the message was sent. He even sent it to his mom, which was sweet, although I don’t know how she’d like being called “Pare”.

Our indefatigable texter then received a reply on his phone. It said: “Hus dis?” Ow! I wish I hadn’t seen that—it’s embarrassing to get a “Who’s this?” reply, especially when you’re sharing your feelings of great joy and one-ness with the world. Yes, names vanish from phonebooks and systems get glitchy, but nobody wants an existential crisis via text. Fortunately our new non-acquaintance was made of stern stuff. He immediately fired off this reply: “Ex-boyfriend ni xxxxx.” Again, that’s kind of sweet, staying in touch with the friends of your ex. Or creepy. In the information age, privacy is virtually impossible: you can’t hide anything, and you can’t avoid anything.

Emotional Weather Report, Fridays and Sundays in the Star.