Technology’s Strange, Familiar Voices
After reading Eldred’s “Technology’s Strange, Familiar Voices,” write your own personal narrative considering a special voice in your life. Your narrative should be approximately 900 words. Please post your narrative before class meets on Monday.
Our lives are full of voices. They come from every which way: parents, siblings, friends, teachers, boyfriends, girlfriends, the television, Hollywood, our iPods, MTV, the White House. Voices – telling us what to do, asking us how we are, and telling us the information we need to know. They’re everywhere really, competing for out attention – and sometimes it gets noisy. In my own often deafening life, there is one voice that usually rings clear over the din. That is the sometimes didactic, ever so practical, overly casual, and always gentle voice of my mother. For going on twenty-one years, this is the voice from which I take my cues. Obviously, I have gone through frequent bouts of ignoring this voice, and I have not always agreed with its tone. Sometimes it can sound more like nails on a chalkboard rather than its comforting timbre. I suppose it depends on the mood we’re both in. Especially around the ages of fifteen and sixteen I often found other voices to drown hers out. I have also begun to distance myself from it in the past year or so in order to seek out my own voice. Despite all of that though, hers is still the voice that I trust above all others. It is still the voice that I search for and pick out when I get lost or scared.
My mom’s voice has been a strong presence in my life since the beginning. She was both teacher and playmate. It was from her (rather than my schooling or other family members) that I learned the big words and wide vocabulary which I grew to adore at a very young age. When my first grade teacher expressed how impressed she was with my older sister’s knack for words (two years before she had me in class), my mother replied, “Wait until you get the next one!” She answered my precocious questions about the world with patience and directness. “What is the for?” “How does that work?” “Where did this come from?” “Why?” “Why not?” I cannot recall a single inquest being turned down due to inconvenience or frustration, and if she didn’t know – she told me. At the time I’m sure this frustrated me; parents are supposed to be omniscient! Looking back though, I very much appreciate her honesty. This voice of knowledge was also often used to entertain and inspire. My mother, sister, and I spent long hours of my childhood huddled together in her bed or in the tent on one of our camping adventures telling stories, reading books aloud to one another, and singing old campfire songs. We do not do this hardly at all anymore – the three of us are rarely ever in the same place at the same time anymore, but I remember these times of sharing and performing quite fondly. I really think that these happy childhood experiences are what led me to my current interests in theatre, music, and literature. My mother’s voice led me to appreciate these things and laid a foundation for them early on.
Throughout my adolescence, the communication dynamic between my mother and I inevitably changed. As any fourteen or fifteen year-old does, I began to value the voices of my friends, of boys, and of MTV over hers. Our voices did not often clash at heightened decibels though; I’m not much of a yeller. That was my sister’s job. I listened to the two of them scream at each other until Jessika left for college. I was the passive aggressive type: sarcasm, eye rolling, mutterings of rebellious nonchalance under my breath (I have later been informed that this approach was far more frustrating). But even through those prickly years, my mother’s voice was the one I always sought for guidance. Hours of deeply reflective conversation in front of an unwatched movie or in the car on the way to my father’s house were spent talking me through my first relationship – and resulting first heartbreak. A constant exchange of advice flowed between us about school, work, friends, and parishioners (my mom was a minister). Even when the two of us managed conflicting schedules that kept us from holding lengthy discussions, there were always notes. They would be left on the kitchen table or stuck to the bathroom mirror: instructions, requests, thoughts, or encouragement. Once, we even played a fiercely competitive word game via Post-it notes left in the dining room under elaborate arrangements of random household items to ensure they would not go unnoticed.
Nowadays I only see my mom on holiday breaks and during parts of summer vacation. The rest of the time we talk fairly infrequently through email, the telephone, and even Facebook. The intermittency of our correspondence is entirely my fault, I’ll admit. The density of my schedule and my own laziness prevents me from maintaining long distance relationships with much success. I also just find these methods of communication so much less satisfying than our real face to face conversations. It’s just not the same; I don’t feel able to connect to my mother’s voice in the same way when I’m only receiving it through some third party medium like the Internet or phone lines. Disappointing as this it does not really matter, for I have internalized her voice. It’s in my head now. So regardless of how often I actually get to hear it, I’m carrying it with me all of the time.
(6186169832): On the way to the bulls game, bus broke down. Pulled into a gas station, got on a new one and hit a parked audi on the way out.
(6187810546); Now, what?
(6186169832): I don’t know how else to describe it, but yeah.
(6187810546): Are the roads bad?
(6186169832): What? No there’s no snow on the ground.
(6186169832): On the way to the bulls game, bus broke down. Pulled into a gas station, got on a new on and hit a parked audi on the way out.
(3144526679): Oh my. Where are you? Our plane just landed and Midway, got a delayed flight to stl. Are you guys okay?
The first exchange was between my mom and me and the second, my dad and me from this Friday. Since college, these exchanges have become a way for easy communication and intertwining of our daily lives. I will send a message about the person I saw falling on the ice, they will send one back about an interesting situation they encountered. However, I believe that these small, written exchanges have also aided me into an adult relationship with my parents.
When I try and think back to when I first started texting, nothing sticks out in my mind. It had to have been early high school. I do remember when my parents starting texting. My dad acted like he was the first person to discover a BlackBerry and bought one for my mom as well. My mom, whose email inbox consisted of subject lines like, “Fw:Fw:Fw:THIS IS HYSTERICAL” and “Free Shipping from Amazon”, was not impressed. Once I took the email feature off for her, she got the hang of it.
Adjusting to college life was really hard. As an only child, it was strange to be constantly surrounded by people. I found my old phone and charged it up, a nostalgic reminder of my freshman year. Externally, its scuffmarks mark my clumsiness, and inside, the messages are frozen in time. I sort through the messages and find ones from August 2007.
(3144526679): I had to take your mom to get ice cream after we dropped you off.
I could picture how it all went down with one sentence. If I had been on the phone, my voice would have cracked and I would have broken down. Instead, I was able to keep it together for all three of us.
(6186169832): Yum! Sounds good.
The ability to communicate at anytime without actually talking was comforting. My emotions were high the first few weeks and through texting, I was able to keep it together. I continue to surf through my old phone, reliving my freshman year. The sad conversations with my parents become ones about getting my fees back for health insurance and football games. I can see the transition of letting go from these messages. This does not mean they became less frequent, but there are less commands. There are no questions about homework or tests, what I am doing, or where I am.
The texts are not replacements for phone conversations and visits, but they are conversations. In general, texting is much more accessible than a phone conversation. Conversations can span an entire day through texting. If you respond an hour later, that’s okay. Texting allows for thinking and freedom in a conversation. With my parents, I am able to think about what I am going to say. I can formulate an answer before I actually send it, something I should do when speaking to people as well. Texting has helped me in thinking before speaking or “sending.” I understand and know how my parents will read and interpret a message and adapt the constructions of my sentences.
(6186169832): A lady in the security line just asked me if she could touch my vest because it reminded her of her dogs. I said yes.
(6187810546): Watch out for strange people.
Here, I have ignored my own advice. These messages I found on my phone from this past December. I sent my mom a message with, what I thought was a humorous story about a woman at the airport. She comes back with a cautionary message about staying away from strangers. I guess that can be attributed to a generation gap, a technological gap, or that she was being a concerned parent. The real point here is that she did not call because of this message. Although she may have been alarmed or confused, she sent a message back instead of calling. The hyperactive and concerned parents have released their reigns to text. We are able to type out our thoughts and converse on the same level. The growth is obviously beyond a textual level, but there it will permanently stay on my phone.
Before I start writing my personal narrative, I feel like I should write this disclaimer. Why? Because what I am going to write about may excite some of you, or it might really peeve you – because I’m going to write about God.
The God I’m going to be writing about is the Christian God. If you’re Christian, you know what God I am talking about – which is great. If you’re not Christian and you don’t believe in God, don’t think I’m writing this to convert you. You can read this narrative as a fabrication, but know that to me, it is truth (and I hope one day you find God too).
Both my parents were raised as Presbyterians. They both grew up during the time of Christian revival in Korea. Many Korean families I know are the zealous, church-going, Jesus lovers, but mine was not one of them. I didn’t grow up going to church. In fact, I was agnostic and then atheist up until college.
Somehow, I found myself going to church at the beginning of my sophomore year (2007). But it wasn’t until the beginning of my junior year (2008) that I heard the voice of God. I was sitting in Foellinger auditorium listening to Rev. Charlie Dates at Revival 2008 (a church event). He was a guest pastor preaching from a message entitled, “This Ain’t What I Ordered*.” At the time, I was in a very unhealthy relationship. In addition, I was taking the commitment to becoming a Christian seriously. After the sermon, I prayed to God basically asking Him to convert my boyfriend into a Christian. I was feverishly praying even though my boyfriend was not very good to me or good for me.
And while I was praying, a voice interrupted me. Now, I must add that this voice isn’t a typical voice you hear. It was more like a thought/presence that interrupted me because the voice didn’t have a sound. I know that may sound odd, but I don’t exactly know how to describe it. But what He told me changed my life.
Like I said earlier, I started going to church the beginning of my sophomore year. But that didn’t mean I liked it. And that didn’t mean I went regularly. It was more like going on a whim once or twice a month. In fact, I hated church. I thought it was boring and tedious. I didn’t want to sit there for 2 hours to listen to some guy speak about an old book. And then spring semester of that year (2009), I landed an internship with a company in Austin, TX. Interestingly enough, it was where my boyfriend was working. So, that spring, I moved in with him. Of course, at this point, we were dating for about 1.5 years and things were pretty serious; he was a new grad and working full time and at the age where it was “time to settle down.” So by the end of that summer, we were looking for a house. To live in. Together. In the future. The very near future.
We talked about a few houses here and there, but we only went to look at one. It wasn’t the prettiest house, but it was tucked away in a decent neighborhood and had a great backyard. I remember walking in the backyard and cataloguing the spaces. I thought to myself:
Here is the window sill where I can let pies cool (yes, very 1950s of me, I know).
Here is the garden where I can plant flowers and vegetables in.
Here is the tree I can put a swing on.
Here is the back porch where we can sit in our rocking chairs and sip lemonade from when we are old.
And it was this very topic that God chose to speak to me about during that October night. He told me: “Hannah, you don’t need that house with an old wooden porch. You don’t need some lemonade. I have bigger and better things in store for you. Be patient and wait.” A week later, I went through the most horrendous break up of my life. But it was through this that I was able to meet the love of my life a year later. And without God, I could not have met him.
And it is God’s voice and presence that has been the most influential in my life. In times of doubt, I pray – and it is through prayer that we communicate (however, that is not to say that God talks to me all the time. In fact, I haven’t heard Him speak to me since Revival (that was the first and only time as of today).
* You can choose to listen to this sermon here: http://cfchome.org/resources/ain039t-what-i-ordered
Hip-hop does have a voice, and many times is tied to some negative connotation about violence and a collection of other immoral behaviors; however, this voice I don’t hear. I listen to many different types of music—I also attempt to write them but usually they never sound as pretty as they are in my head. Although I am more familiar with hip-hop and indie rock n’ roll, I can hear other genres, too. If anything I would consider myself a hip-hop artist, who now writes only for himself. A couple years after graduating high school a good friend of mine created the hip-hop band “Ground Zero.”–which from the name, allowed us to vent concerns with politics and other social observations. Literally speaking, “Ground Zero” became my voice. One that I grew familiar with and one that I learned to understand and ultimately change. I would not necessarily say that this hip hop—rock—jazz fusion band was my voice (even though I did much of the speaking) rather a collection of voices all living under the word of ‘music.’ Drums have a voice, they have inflection, they have pauses and sometimes they won’t stop talking, but we know that they sound much different from the saxophone and the bass guitar. It was spring of 2007 I think, when ground zero got the first gig. The first gig was nerve wracking, even after countless hours of practicing weeks prior. Music has never left my life since our first spring show and I expect it never will. A person I find interesting could talk with me, and I may choose to ignore their voice. With music, you will most likely find my ears pinned to the back of my head. This narrative has no way of showing you this voice, this voice is something I can explain and re-explain hours on end yet you cannot hear it the way I hear it.
Experience. Voices become attractive because we hear them before, the ones we enjoy, we hear over and over again. I hear music everyday, and the beauty is, I can decide what I listen to. In the mornings I take the bus to class, turn on my zune (microsoft’s version of the ipod) and drown out any voices from the outside. You could say that music redefines my world, so much that the real world becomes invisible. My favorite voice. I know what it likes, I know what it sounds like, and I have possessed the ability to speak it. And it feels wonderful. I am not saying you must create music to enjoy it, but when you do it turns the voices volume a little bit higher. My friend Eddie says the similar about art, though he is an artist, “I’ve been in the drawing zone, I can’t do anything tonight.” It really is in essence the same voice, one that pulls you away from the outside world. It tells you to create and to express yourself. A creative writing professor told me, “Writing is the loneliest thing you can do.” Yes, lonely in the sense of physical space but never lonely within the voice. Voices, in a sense do create this space. Whether it be over the telephone, the internet, or dinner with a friend. When we talk there is most likely something between the two parties. Yet we love to indulge in it, until time seems to stop; a concept that my mother expresses everyday. I swear the phone, house or cellular is her best friend. She can easily spend hours upon hours talking to her sister, and before she knows it the sun has already went down and came up.
Communication is definitely the center of all things voice. You don’t necessarily have to make music to speak through it. Facebook status’s are a prime example of this. Too many times do I see people post song lyrics or youtube links to songs that have or are listening to at the time. One can assume that a person that has just broke up with his or her partner may post a song dealing with relationships; and the nature of the song may be a prime stamp for how they truly feel about it. Take into consideration a break-up song with a funky guitar riff as opposed to one with a mellow toned piano. They sound different, but may be quite the same in meaning. This is another reason why music, a technology in itself, is a very important voice to me. It has mobility and it has versatility. It can move when we want to and we will always have the ability to change it. Music is a message that can be used by all of us, and carries a very strong voice.
The voice behind the music I enjoy create a sort of unspoken bond between me and the rest of the world. Even though, the voice of music has the ability to lift me out of it, at the same time, it firmly grounds me to it. Maybe because music is so temporal makes it so fascinating, in a sense we do control it, and in other instances it controls us. I see music as a voice that is always heard, the sound at least, but how long to we listen? Do we even listen at all? Hearing voices is easy, understanding the message is not. And even if the music sound goes out, I will always be able to hear its voice.
But for now I am sleepy, mindlessly writing through the night.
How I feel:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4zherMkcXdo
Narrative for 482
I can still remember the first time my mom texted me. Several of the words had no spaces between them, and she tried to stay faithful to texting lingo by using “u” and “2.” I also remember laughing so hard my roommates wanted to know if something was wrong with me. It amuses me every time my mom advances over a technological hurdle. Ever since she started to email between her friends more often, without fail I will have a new email from her at least once a week containing pictures of fuzzy animals, or warnings about the current mugging tricks used by parking lot thieves. But before that, long before that, my mom and I have communicated by speaking face to face. Ever since middle school or so, when she would be awake after I headed to bed, she would stop by my room and sit on my bed. I would tell her how my day went, she would ask questions about school, my friends, and extra-curriculars. I would wonder about how work was, ask about my grandparents. Oftentimes by the end of our conversation, she would be lying on my bed with me, pinning half of my covers down. Our conversations grew so regular that my sister, older than me by two years, began to grow jealous. She would be in bed at the same time, and as my mom left her room to go into mine my sister would yell for an extra hug. Or when we were talking, sometimes she would yell into the hallway asking why mom never talked to her so much.
I have always been the communicator in my family, and the mediator as well. My sister has always been the hothead, getting into screaming matches with my mom and pissing off my dad. My parents got divorced when I was seven, and my mom raised my sister and I as a single mother. It was hard for her when my sister went to college, despite their often tumultuous relationship. After I left for college, my mom ended up getting a dog to keep empty-nest syndrome at bay. During my freshman year she called once a week, asking about the food, my roommates, how classes were. Sophomore year she finally figured out texting, and I started to get weekly updates that way instead. Now we communicate by email, phone, and texting, an amalgamation of technology that allows me to continue contact with her.
One year when I was still in high school and living at home, my mom’s birthday rolled around, and as usual my sister and I didn’t give ourselves enough time to get her anything decent. As I signed the card my sister and I bought for her, I decided to add a sentimental touch. I can’t remember the message inside the card, but it was a list about what mother’s do for you, such as care about you, spend time with you, etc etc. So after each line I would add an example of how she had displayed one of these traits in our relationship. One of these examples was talking with her late at night before falling asleep. When she read the card, she got teary-eyed and hugged me, moved to the point of tears. I actually felt terrible, because my plan had worked. I had tried to make up for the shitty present by loading her card with sentiment. But I wasn’t as heartfelt as my mother, I wasn’t as sincere. I betrayed the sanctity and importance of our honest communication with each other, and I was paying the price with the full force of my conscience.
Another time, when I was still in high school, my mother somehow got on the subject of my dad’s dad while we were having our nightly conversation. She began a rant (one that she has started before) about how she didn’t like him, describing his socially awkward behavior. However she took it a step further than I had ever heard her disclose, telling stories that implied some incredibly hurtful and disturbing things about my grandfather. In the middle of her third or fourth story of this kind, I got up and left. It was the only time I ever cut one of our conversations short. I couldn’t handle what she implied, I couldn’t deal with her own outpouring of emotion concerning my grandfather. It was something I wanted her to leave alone, or in the very least not tell me. It may have been the truth, it may not have been, however my grandfather has always been a strong loving force in my life. I wanted to keep it that way, and so I left. It was a terrifying look into where our communicative intents split, and it is a memory I remember years later.
Despite the plethora of ways to still talk to my mother, our relationship has gained a good deal of emotional distance. We rarely talk for very long on the phone, our conversations oftentimes consist of asking and answering questions about when I’m coming home next, or how my grandpa (her dad) has been doing since grandma passed away a few months ago. When I’m home, I’m almost always awake long after my mom falls asleep, there are no bedside conversations anymore. It is a saddening change, but I believe it is a necessary one. I am finding my own voice, one that doesn’t need the assurance and backing of my mother’s any longer. I also rely on other people now, I am in constant contact with my friends from both college and back home. But my mom and I still talk, she still knows when my spring break is, when I make it into a musical, when I break up with a girlfriend. And sometimes when I’m home for a weekend, I’ll go on an errand with her and we’ll talk the whole time she’s driving to the supermarket, about everything and nothing.
If I had to choose 1 voice in my life that has been either inspirational or made an impact then I would have to choose my twin brother, Andre. Ever since we were little we stayed close and looked after each other. This was mostly due to the fact that our mother chose this for us but regardless; we never were alone and always knew at least one person wherever we went. Our lives maintained this consistency until we got to college and went our separate ways. However, before that during 8th grade and high school, our inseparable union almost collapsed.
In 8th grade, I moved from Chicago to the south suburbs called Palos Park, coincidentally this was after the movie Hardball was released. Initially, I nor my brother were accepted at this school since we were the only African-Americans males to ever attend and so we were seen as oddities and this aura was definitely felt through the constant stares and silent whispers. Nevertheless we adapted and gained friends. Being the outspoken one and in a movie, I knew more people but Dre was always quiet and thus never wanted the popular social life. As a result, as the school year progressed, my mother started to notice that Andre was not as happy as I was in school and I failed to understand why. I assumed since we knew mostly the same people it was ok but I failed to realize the silent message he was sending me. Andre was a person who expressed himself internally and so he never told me his true feelings about the movie. Instead it was my mother who relayed his voice and expressed his thoughts of discontent. After I learned about his dislike for who I was becoming I decided to take a backseat from the fame and friends and tried to remove it from my life completely. Thus, after 8th grade I have denied playing in this movie because of the effect it had of Dre.
Once in high school, I faced a new challenge however. I had to convince all of the new students I was not who the rumors said I was and had to maintain a low profile with all the students who graduated 8th grade with me. This was difficult for my first two years since the movie was new and still popular, yet I kept true to myself and removed myself from the limelight and tried supplement Dre as my replacement. Yet, since he was the laid-back type this was hard and so I kept the movie objective instead of subjecting him to a lifestyle that he clearly disliked. As such, our relationship grew stronger. We were visibly seen as equals now and that made both of us happy because that’s how we saw each other. This realization came in our last two years of high school, which resulted in my two best years. Sadly however, high school was not permanent and we had to go to college, which meant separating ways. Surprisingly, this idea was fine with us because we had been going to the same school our entire lives, so some separation was a relief as well as a chance to see how we adapted to a life without going to the same school. I believe at this moment was when I truly allowed his voice to affect me.
Being twins, we were born at the same time except I was a minute older and thus perceived as the older one. However, I felt that this perception switched constantly, even leading me to question if I was truly older due to his older facial features. Even though I was older, I believe our constant switching occurred because we learned from each other. I learned a lot from him because he allowed himself to adapt to a plethora of situations that I would have simply let pass me by. For example, in high school, I was the one who made sure he never needed anything as long as it was attainable because I felt that responsibility. Yet, when we went to college our roles switched and he started looking after me. I appreciated this because I needed the chance to relax and enjoy life even though never was he a burden in my life. Yet this wasn’t the only ease he brought. For instance, when I was younger, I stayed arguing with my mother (my father says its because we are so alike; I disagree) but whenever we did fight, Dre was always there afterwards to calm her down and eventually get her to laugh. I was never able to achieve this until I became a junior in college, taking me almost 20 years to do something that Dre did in 10 minutes. This made me realize how important he was because he was the mouthpiece for our family. He was the one who you went to for a laugh because he kept it blunt and to the point, something I had problems with and still do to this day.
During our last year of college we both turned 21, finally reaching the separation of living as a boy and becoming a man. I welcomed this with open arms and couldn’t wait to kick it with Dre as an adult. However, I never got this chance because he got in a tragic car accident that claimed his life almost two months ago. When I first heard the news I didn’t believe it because he was too strong and stubborn to get into a car accident. In my head I was listening to all of our old conversations and thinking of all the things we did growing up. Yet, despite the myriad of memories I still couldn’t accept that he was gone forever. Then, I had an epiphany and had to think, “what would Dre say if he was here right now?” I believe it was his voice asking me this question and this was the determining drive that kept me sane. It was and is his voice that I use to stay strong and realize that everything happens for a reason regardless if the reason is one you agree with. I know that he is in a better place and I thank God for removing him from the cruel harsh world we live in but I feel lost because the one voice who I could tell anything is no longer physically present. But the lack of physical representation will not impede the brotherly bond that we continue to maintain and uphold.
There are many different voices in my life. I’m very close with my family, and not just my immediate family. I talk to my parents on the phone almost every single day; I can’t stand not to, even after being away at school for four years. I even go home pretty often because I still get homesick. We also text and e-mail, and I talk to my younger brother on a regular basis as well. I’m even the creep who “talks” to both of my dogs over the phone. I also talk to both sets of my grandparents at least once a week, if not more. I keep in touch with my aunts, uncles, and cousins often as well, by phone, e-mail, and texts. And of course I also keep in close contact with friends. I like the feeling of being able to connect with everyone I care about, whenever I want, and with whatever technology is best for the moment. Staying connected with my family and friends and hearing their different voices makes me feel like I see them all the time, and that we are never really apart for that long. I might not see one of my cousins for months, yet it will feel like we hang out often. Technology is so convenient these days, and I would feel so lost without it.
Yet, the voice that sticks out the most to me is that of my best friend, Marley. Marley and I have been friends since we were thirteen, and there was never an awkward moment wasted getting to know each other. We immediately clicked and can even tell you the day we met (the day after my birthday – it’s easy to remember). We became extremely close over the course of eighth grade, and by the time high school rolled around, we were attached at the hip. We went to different colleges, yet we have only grown closer because of it. Marley is the closest thing I have to a real sister. And we definitely bicker like real sisters as well, but our fights only last five minutes and usually end in laughter.
Over the years, Marley and I have used all kinds of different technologies to communicate. We’ve passed many notes in class, or wrote them to each other when we were in other classes that we didn’t have together. I saved all of our notes and still have them. The notes always kept us entertained and we usually just wrote inside jokes in them and doodled all over them. We had so many inside jokes that if you overheard us talking, you might actually think we were speaking in a different language. Sometimes our way of communication was just drawing goofy pictures and giving them to each other.
Our favorite technology is the phone, of course (next to actually seeing each other). We have spent so many hours on the phone it is unbelievable. We have definitely had more than one six hour conversation. For us to talk on the phone for only an hour would be a very short conversation. We never run out of things to talk about, and we always have to tell each other every detail of our lives, no matter how mundane. At first, we always talked on our cordless house phones, but that wasn’t always that reliable, since everyone else needed the phone, too. Plus, we couldn’t talk unless we were actually home. Now of course we have the convenience of cell phones, and if we don’t answer we can leave important messages on each other’s voicemails.
Once I left for college, we began to e-mail each other semi-often, and we even sent each other letters. Letters and cards are still fun to send and get from each other. It’s just so much more personal, and it takes us back to the days in high school when we wrote notes and drew funny pictures. It’s always a pleasant surprise to get a letter from Marley because it lets me know she’s thinking about me, even though we communicate in some form every single day. We also used to communicate through Facebook, but we both deleted ours, so we obviously don’t do that anymore. We do send each other pictures through e-mail though, and that is always fun.
Recently, the technology we use the most next to talking on the phone is texting. It is so easy, and we often have entire conversations through text, and that saves us a phone call, when we might be to bust to actually talk on the phone. Texting is great for us because our schedules are totally different, so we’re usually not available to talk at the same times, so texting really comes in handy. If I need Marley’s advice on something right that instant, but she’s in class so she can’t talk, she can still text me her opinion.
I communicate with Marley through her many different “voices.” Yet, no matter what the technology, I can always tell that it’s Marley; her personality always shines through. The different voices we constantly use widen the ways we talk to each other, making it easy to have some kind of contact with each other every day. We don’t like to stick to only one or two modes of communication, and I like it that way. It gives us so many things we can look back on, like with our notes, pictures, and cards. Marley is one of the absolute most important voices in my life, and I’m thankful that we have so much technology that constantly enables us to stay in touch in different ways.
Throughout the course of my life I have communicated with numerous people in a variety of different ways. But it wasn’t until about two and a half years ago that the most special voice came into my life. When I first met the girl who would become my girlfriend and, assuming my luck holds, later my wife, I was petrified and could hardly ever find the words to talk around her. Her name was Jenny and she was so easy going and words simply flowed from her lips. But I did not have that same ease around her—every word was a tremendous effort, such that our relationship was very one-sided in the beginning. I would listen as she told me story after story, learning all about her life, while sharing very little about my own.
These conversations were only when we were together. When we were apart, phone calls were almost completely out of the question so I turned to a technology that I largely spurn to this day – texting. For a long time this was our primary mode of communication. We conversed during the day about very banal topics, I would do anything just to try and keep her texting, because even though I couldn’t hear her voice, I could imagine it through the words.
As time passed, I gradually became a bit more comfortable around her and was able to somewhat contribute to the conversations. Jenny started to learn more about me and, at the same time, I was actually able to respond and interact with her stories. Obviously, this caused our relationship to grow much more than simple texting and one-sided conversations ever could. Soon, we were even able to start talking on the phone. Texting was still the primary source of communication when we weren’t together, but the phone did start to come into play. Although my awkwardness came back a bit more over the phone lines. With time, however, texting became more of a side form of technology (thankfully!) and the phone became our primary source of communication. Thanksgiving break followed by winter and spring break gave us a tremendous amount of opportunities to chat on the phone, something we came to be really good at, spending hours chatting at a time. And with summer break came a great challenge. At least over the other vacations we were able to see each other relatively often, but with summer break that was no longer an option as my summer job carried me to the North Woods of Wisconsin. Now we met the challenge of communicating almost solely by phone, but with the occasional email thrown in the mix. And throughout all this time we still used text messaging to interact during times when a phone call was not possible.
Soon we were back at school and seeing each other every day again so the need for long calls became less important, but I discovered that I was now able to just call her in between class and chat for a couple minutes on the way to my next room. And we were now texting each other while in class just so we could talk to one another when the phone was not an option. But the time flew by and then Jenny was on her way to Costa Rica where she was studying abroad for the semester. This was going to become quite a trial as we now had to find new ways of communication because a phone call or text message was entirely too expensive to do with any frequency. This led to email. While we had sent a few over the course of the previous summer, for the most part this form of communication was not something we had used in the past. However, now we started sending each other emails multiple times a day. Sometimes these were very long and other times they were just a few lines to say hello and I miss you. We also began sending letters. While email is significantly faster, particularly when sending mail to a foreign country, there is just something more personal about a handwritten letter. In all fairness, we had sent some letters while I was at camp working the previous summer, but these current letters were a bit more expansive. Jenny sent me postcards with pictures of the places she’d traveled to over the weekend and long letters written in a variety of colors, even including a leaf she found that she thought was cool one time. As for myself, I found that I would constantly be thinking of fun ways to write a letter, attempting to be creative for her. Receiving one of her letters inevitably brightened my day beyond belief.
One other major form of communication that came into play while Jenny was abroad was Skype. This was something neither of us had ever used prior to her leaving (exempting a few trial runs over winter break to make sure it worked). With this we were not only able to communicate in real time, but we were also able to see one another. And that added ability to look at her while we were talking made us so much closer and as if the distance was not that great. The only troubles that arose because of this was the connection. There were times when we would talk for a few hours and the connection would be perfect the entire time, but there were other days when every ten minutes the connection would break off and we would have to reconnect. This became very difficult at times, but worth it nevertheless. Excepting days when Jenny could not get Internet for some reason or she was on a weekend trip with other people in the program, we talked on Skype every day. Interestingly enough though, in spite of the Skype conversations, there were a few instances over the course of her trip when she actually called me on my cell phone and these were some of the best moments of all. The conversations were never very long, but they were always such a wonderful surprise. And even though I didn’t actually get to see her face as I did over Skype, her voice came through so clearly that it seemed like she was closer than a continent away.
I was able to visit a couple times while she was there and it was wonderful to actually get to see her and hold her and hear her voice in person. In spite of all the technology, whether it is phones, email, letters, or Skype, nothing can compare to looking into her eyes and actually watching her talk while in the same room. After her return we continued in our old ways of the phone calls at night and texting during the day, with the occasional letter thrown in during my summer up North. Now, back at school, we are together every day, even having a couple classes together during the day, but we are still talking during the other classes and calling each other in between one class and the next because the love of conversation, of hearing her voice, never fails to put a smile on my face. Even when I am not with her, a text or a phone call brings her that much closer and makes me that much happier.
The term “voice” can be interpreted in many different ways. In “Technology’s Strange Familiar Voice,” Janet Carey Eldred describes the different voices that she hears from her mother. These different voices include a church voice, neighbor voice, English teacher voice, and the P.E.T. voice. I can relate to the many different kind of voices that are used. The voice that has made the biggest impact on my life is my mother’s voice. Through all the good times and the bad times of my life, my mother’s voice is a constant. Although I sometimes brush off what her voice tells me, I always find out down the road that this voice is the one that should overshadow all the other voices I hear because it is always right.
I have encountered many obstacles in my life that I would not have been able to overcome had my mother’s voice not been there. She is so caring, compassionate, patient, kind, forgiving, and understanding. I can truly say that my mother is my best friend voice. I know that I can tell her anything and everything. She never judges me, only supports and tries to understand me. It is my mother who has taught me about pride and working hard. I have developed a pride in myself and my work as a result of the support that my mother gives me.
So much has changed in the past three years. I am in Champaign seven months out of each year and it has been a huge transition from hearing my mother’s voice on a daily basis across the dinner table, to having a few opportunities to hear her voice now. Technology has allowed us to communicate in ways in which are sometimes a little more convenient, but not the same. During my freshman year, my mother would call me every since day at least twice. After a few weeks, I told my mom that she was overwhelming me and that I needed some space. Saying this is something that I regret the most that year. I never saw things from my mother’s perspective. First my older brother moved out of the house, then I moved out of the house. She was left home by herself and simply wanted someone to talk to. I can understand her logic now. Since freshman year, I have taught my mother how to use e-mail, text messaging, and Skype. My mother and I e-mail several times per week and text message almost daily. These forms of communication are a little easier than calling one another. This way, my mother can text or e-mail me when convenient for her, and I can reply when convenient for me. We also Skype a few times per week. This gives us the opportunity to both hear each other’s voice and see each other’s face.
Even with the new technology that we use, nothing replaces the face-to-face contact and voice of my mother. I try to visit home at least one weekend each month. When I get home, the first thing that my mother and I do is sit down and talk. This initial talk lasts anywhere from one to three hours. Weekends at home pass by so quickly. As I drive home, I make a mental list of things that I would like to talk about with my mother. When actually talking about these things, my mother and I break off into tangents and the conversation is virtually endless.
When I talk to some of my friends, they normally complain about the voice of their mother and/or father. From what I hear, many parents push their children to work harder in school and work. My mother never really pushed me, only encouraged me. As I grow older, I have come to push myself both academically and with jobs. I want to excel and do the best that I can for myself. My mother is always there to cheer me on and she is also making it possible for me to be in college. My mother, father, and stepfather split my college tuition and fees. If it was not for them, I would not be here today.
Another difference between my mother’s voice and the voice of other parents is that my mother never really enforced strict rules on me. My mother and I always had a mutual respect and trust. She always made sure that I was safe and she would often worry; however, she trusted me to make the right decisions. Her voice was always of concern rather than of scorn. When I did do something that she did not necessarily approve of, she sat down with me and we talked about it together. Rather than telling me that she was disappointed, she rationalized with me and leveled with me. My mother’s voice was never a voice that I was afraid of. Whenever I had a problem, her voice would be the first one that I wanted to hear.
In summary, I am not sure where I would be today if it was not for my mother. Her kindness, understanding, and support have made me the person that I am today. We have always had a mutual respect and she treats me the way that she herself would like to be treated. There is no other voice in the world that I want to hear when I am having a difficult time than the voice of my mother.
While I’d like to say that one of the most powerful voices in my life were my parents, since I was an only child, I really don’t speak much with my parents, and until I moved away to college we really didn’t have a good relationship. Instead, the two most important voices in my life have been my recent ex-boyfriend, and my friend Jenny. I met Jenny a few years ago now doing a LARP game, and instantly I realized we had a lot in common with each other. She’s been a big support in my life, and I’ve tried to help her with her life as well. I feel totally comfortable telling her about all of the big problems in my life, and she is never hesitant to tell me where she thinks I can improve. Because she’s so frank, and because I know that she’ll tell me if I’m doing something stupid, I take her compliments and support much more strongly than with other people. For instance, when my dad says that something I’ve done is very clever or intelligent, I just smile and mutter a “thanks”, but when Jenny says it, I actually feel like I’ve done something intelligent and significant. Likewise, my recent ex-boyfriend is a very strong support in my life. I feel like I can ask his opinion about anything, and it will resonate at least a little with my own. Also, I know that I can talk about anything with him and that he won’t judge me. He honestly wishes me well and wants to help me to be a better person, so I know that what he says is always caring and with good intentions. If I needed him for anything, he’d be happy to be there, so I’m not afraid to ask him.
While both of these important people in my life are primarily there for me in person, and we communicate face to face, since both of them are in St. Louis and I am here in Champaign, we have to communicate in other ways too. Jenny and I talk on the phone or on facebook, but most of our communication is held until we can talk face to face. If it can’t wait, we use the phone. She hates sitting in front of her computer waiting for chat messages to pop up, because she likes to move around. Jim and I talk a lot more, and we prefer to talk everyday, so we use AIM, but we don’t prefer it. When we were dating, we used Skype and webcams in order to make sure we understood each other and had face time through the distance. AIM chats make tonal inflection impossible, and it’s a lot easier to misunderstand each other. As well, chat messages don’t tell you anything about the person’s feelings or affect, which we could see in the webcams. However, it takes a lot of bandwidth to be able to use skype and video, and we both have a lot of homework, so unless we have something important to talk to each other about, we don’t use those anymore. We also talk on the phone.
While I have unlimited text messages in my phone, I hardly ever use them except in urgent times when I can’t talk to someone on the phone. My ex doesn’t even have text messaging services on his phone, because he doesn’t want to be bothered with individual sentences at a time at all hours of the day, and text messages don’t communicate much. As well, he cannot afford them. Jenny and I hardly ever text each other on our phones because we usually just call, even to say just a few words. I think it’s interesting how some people chat with each other solely through texts or on Facebook nowadays, and myself and my closest friends would never dream of doing that.
I thought about the special voices in my life. There are a few. When trying to narrow it down to one voice, I could only think of my mother’s. It seems somewhat cliché, but I guess it is cliché for a good reason. I have always had a great relationship with my mother and father. For some reason however, I have always felt an added, special connection with my mother. As I reflected on her voice, I realized how much it represents. I noticed how many emotions and memories the sound of her voice triggers. Growing up I had a very warm and comfortable life. Now that I think of reason why I feel an added, special connection with my mother, I suppose it is because I spent so much time with her as a child. Every day of elementary school, up until sixth or seventh grade, she would walk me about five blocks to school. Also, she worked as a teacher assistant who happened to be placed in my kindergarten classroom. I never got the chance to fulfill the role of the crying child who has to see his mother go away as he begins his first day of schooling. She continued working in the same school until my graduation, so throughout the years I would occasionally see her in the hallways on my way to lunch or something. Anyway, during this time, I only knew my mother’s oral voice.
It was not until I moved away for college that I became more familiar with her voice over the phone. Quite frankly, there is very little difference in sound or tone, but it is in the knowing that it is the phone’s speaker and not her own mouth that is producing that sound on my end, which makes the difference. Now that I think of it, I was not very used to the idea of talking to my mother over the phone. Before college, my mother and I were almost exclusively face-to-face conversational. Phone conversations were for friends, crushes and girlfriends. I suppose I can say that these were almost two separate spheres. I considered the technology of phone conversations with my friends separate from my communicative relationship with my mother. Almost immediately after going away to college, my mother entered that sphere which had already been a part of my life for a few years.
Growing up I always knew my mother would always be there for me if I ever had a problem or needed some comfort. I could always go to her. I never really did though; I never really felt like I needed to. If there ever was a time when I needed the comfort of her voice, it was on a night about a year ago. About a year ago, an event occurred which deeply affected my life. It was probably one of the most emotionally affecting occurrences of my life so far. Anyway, I found myself in a state of heightened emotion, and I could have really used the comfort of my mother’s voice. It did not, however, occur to me that I should really call her. Instead, at that moment, as if she knew what condition I found myself in, she called me. As soon as I heard her voice I felt safe. Safety is just one of the many positive emotions my mother’s voice triggers in me. This time, as we talked, I was not aware of the fact that my mother’s voice was being produced by a speaker; we were having a face-to-face conversation like the ones we had on the way to elementary school and before going away to college.
In the same way that my mother was once out of the phone conversation sphere of my life, she now meets a similar challenge with the sphere of communicating by text message. While I was a little hesitant in saying that my phone conversations and my mother were in somewhat separate spheres, I can say with confidence that text messaging is a sphere in my life which is completely removed from that of my communication with my mother. I regularly send text messages, and I have been doing so for several years. Text messaging has become as normal of a way of communication as it can get for me. I am so used to receiving and replying to messages. Several months ago, I received a text message from my mother. I have to say, the voice in that text message was not the one that triggers the various positive emotions and memories. I was so not familiar with her voice in textual form. Not only was it strange to receive/read it, but equally, if not stranger, to compose a reply. This is mostly due to the fact that I had to compose a reply in Spanish, as opposed to every other text message I had written in English. To this day, she has been unsuccessful in merging with the text messaging sphere. Just last week, my father sent me a text message for the first time.