The mobile phone at 50: still without a smartphone, my relationship with my Nokia and Samsung handsets is an on-off one
- It’s been 50 years since the first mobile phone call was made, and nearly 30 since the first smartphone came along; most people can’t live without one
- Not writer Fionnuala McHugh, who has had dalliances with two devices – a Nokia good mostly for texting and a no-network Samsung hand-me-down
My life without a smartphone isn’t a crusade. And it’s not an affectation. When I finally hitch myself to one, we’ll be inseparable. The thought of us being apart, even for an hour, will make me panic. It will be a lifelong relationship and that scares me. I’m not ready for full commitment yet.
Oh, I’ve flirted. In the 1990s, early-adopter friends were encouraging. They were so sweetly excited about their mobiles. You know how it is when you’re in love: you want everyone to share the bliss.
They’d introduce me to them in restaurants. They’d talk about them – and into them – non-stop at the table.
These dinner companions weren’t always handsome. Some of them, frankly, were on the clunky side. They could be sullen too. When they fell mysteriously silent, my friends were distraught. Back then, no one ever called them smart.
Occasionally, I’d daydream about the HTC Desire, the Nokia Luna, the manly Motorola Razr. It came to nothing. Their vital statistics were increasingly baffling. CPU? XDR? PPI?
I grew nervous of strangers sidling up in Hong Kong malls to describe their packages. Experts warned about transmitted diseases: fried internal organs after too much lap-cuddling, ricked necks, radiated brains.
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I yearned for an uncomplicated partner – not, obviously, the strong silent type but the strong supportive kind, there for you in a crisis, yet with no strings attached.
I’ve been saying for 30 years that I’m only passing through Hong Kong, so I didn’t want to sign a matrimonial contract with expensive penalties if we broke our vows. It had to be an open relationship: I was free to keep looking whilst having a useful fallback.
That was how I chose my Nokia 130. We met on a summer’s night in 2014. It was in Wan Chai, directly opposite the refuse collection point on Luard Road. I paid HK$200.
You know what they say about the forever-bond between those who meet during a crisis? Our affair began in a moment of desperation
I know what you’re thinking but you’re wrong: we settled into a happy, low-key relationship. People find it strangely touching when we appear in public.
It’s true we got off to a rocky start.
It was a chaotic time: the streets nearby were closed because of the Occupy protests. You know what they say about the forever-bond between those who meet during a crisis? Our affair began in a moment of desperation: I needed to find a way to inform others where I was. This turned out to be called texting.
The fact that my Nokia’s instructions were entirely in Bahasa didn’t make it easy for us. We’ve both found predictive text a struggle.
Its impressive stamina means it can keep going for days. It screens me from scammers. It doesn’t mind when I ignore it, which, mostly, I do. Frankly, and I know this sounds ironic, it’s not great with actual phone calls so we only text.
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Yes, there have been a few break-ups. I’ve dropped it on several occasions and it immediately fell apart. But we quickly got back together again with no ill-effects. We never play games – apparently it can but I don’t go there.
The beauty of it lay in our pay-as-you-go freedom. We were just two anonymous souls seeking a connection. Then, as a result of the 2019 protests, the government made us register our association.
I don’t know whether it’s a coincidence but, to be honest, making it official dimmed some of the magic.
Around that difficult time, my brother introduced me to his ancient (three years old) Samsung Galaxy S7 Edge, which he was about to bury in a drawer. He – along with several governments, banks, airlines, post offices, restaurants and the rest of the known world – wanted me to ditch my Nokia.
He urged me to have a brief fling with this pensionable Samsung. It could be the gateway to a full-on relationship with a younger model.
It hasn’t turned out like that. The Samsung’s not on a network so it doesn’t have a number. To be brutal, it’s impotent. As far as I’m concerned, it’s really a camera … plus a step-tracker on which I can also check emails via the MTR’s free Wi-fi.
Okay, it was a convenient escort during the Covid pandemic: somehow, the LeaveHomeSafe and QR apps worked. But now, at the age of seven, it has the battery life of a mayfly.
I refuse to buy it new clothing so it still wears its frayed coat like a swaggering dude that doesn’t realise its day is done. Exactly no one thinks it’s adorable.
Of course, this means that I have to carry around two phones, neither of them with a high IQ. But in our ménage à trois, I’m in charge. I can’t say the same about my friends.
On this golden anniversary, I notice they’re often paranoid about exactly who has control in the relationship. They talk about trial separations, detoxing. They worry, constantly, about the influence on the children.
Often, someone turns to me and says, “Lucky you”.
