The other day,
I was sitting in the Toast café in Takashimaya, waiting for my flatmate, Saffy.
She had just SMS’d that she was running ten minutes late.
“U r trying on shoes, aren’t u?” I
texted back.
My phone pinged. “OMG! How did u
noe? Can u see me?”
I settled back to read a back issue
of 8DAYS. Slowly, I felt a pressure build up to my right, an unsettling cone of
silence that I’d noticed when I first sat down.
Without lifting my head from a story
about Joanne Peh, I let my eyes swivel to the right.
Four young twenty-somethings dressed
rather stylishly sat amidst a clatter of plates with half eaten cake, empty
glasses and half empty cups of tea. They looked like they were good friends who
had met up for a late afternoon catch up and gossip. I noted their clean skins
and, on one of them, snappy spectacles. I envied them their youth.
Finally, I just put down my magazine
and stopped pretending that I wasn’t looking at them. Short of me taking off
all my clothes, they probably wouldn’t even have noticed that I was now openly
ogling them.
Here’s the thing: they weren’t
speaking at all. Each person at that table had his or her head down focused on
an iPhone, iPad, iPod or a laptop. Each tapping away, scribbling on a notebook,
swiping a screen, busy communicating with what I imagined was everyone in the
world except the other three people at the table.
For long minutes, they didn’t say a word to each
other. Occasionally, one person would mumble something and the other three
would grunt. No one lifted their heads.
When Saffy finally arrived with Sharyn in tow, both
grunting under the load of several On Pedder bags, I hissed at them that we
needed to move tables.
Saffy looked perplexed. “But we just got here!
Aren’t we having coffee and cake? I love their
peanut butter cupcakes!”
“We are, but just not at this table,” I whispered
while hustling her and Sharyn to another table at the other end of the café,
explaining on the way.
After she’d craned her neck around the corner of a
pillar to have a good look, Saffy said this was probably why there are so many
single people in Singapore.
“They just don’t know how to talk.”
Leave it to Sharyn to pipe up, “Aiyah, after you
marry long long time, hor, you also don’t talk, what!”
“Well, I think it’s just plain creepy,” I said
firmly. “How do four people just sit at a table and not say a single thing to
each other?”
“Maybe dey are in-laws?” Sharyn suggested, still
clinging stubbornly to her original theory of post-marriage dynamics.
“Or maybe they are
talking to one another? Maybe…” Saffy
said, her bosom flexing with doubt, “maybe, they’re instant messaging one
another!”
I hesitated. “You think?”
Three heads leaned over the pillar to have another
look at the silent quartet. After a while, the heads retracted and Saffy said
it was easily one of the strangest thing she’d ever seen.
“I mean, it’s not like they’re studying or
anything. Two of them are on phones, and one of them has ear-phones! Oh God,
it’s just driving me insane!”
Later, Amanda said it was very weird that the three
of us had spent an hour obsessing about four complete strangers.
“Yes, but the point is, we were communicating!” Saffy pointed out. “I have so much to say
all the time, I just can’t comprehend how you could spend all that time in the
presence of three other people and
not say a word! I mean, Sharyn and I spent the whole afternoon together, we
talked the entire time and we still had plenty to say to each other on our
handphones after we’d gone our separate ways!”
Which started this whole topic about the lost art
of the conversation. Here’s the thing: When you mainly talk to your friends on
Facebook, SMSs, and instant messaging, maybe we’re producing a generation that
is slowly losing its ability to vocalize an opinion about anything, except in
grunts.
As Saffy observed, “It’s like we’re all in a porn
movie!”
Amanda said that one day, the whole world will be
reduced to sign-language. “And we won’t be able to lift our heads anymore
because we’re always looking down at our screen!” She also thought this is
probably why whenever she asks shop-girls a question, they panic. “They get
this weird, frightened look and their eyes swivel sideways.”
“Maybe it would help if you SMS’d them,” Saffy
suggested.
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