How Frying My iPhone Was The Best Thing That Happened To Me All Summer

I’d been hearing about “The Cay” [pronounced “Key”] for months, and had already missed 2 opportunities to go see it myself. Judeen had spoken so highly of it, and I knew it would be absolutely picturesque.

Truth be told, I wanted to get my own pics, use my own angles, filters, and contouring. I had it all planned out. As we approached the Island, I awaited the perfect moment to snap dozens of the same shot. The caption would be riddled with silly hashtags and some pretentious quote, #WeDontResortToViolenceWeOnResortsAndIslands, followed by pics of the lone boat, the fresh catch, the crystal clear water.

And then it happened. Under the influence of several cups of White rum and Ginger Beer, I allowed the waves to wash over my searing skin, cup in hand, phone in bosom, unbeknownst to me, and I breathed deeply.

Perhaps 30 minutes after being submerged, a chuckling Judeen pointed out to me the location of my phone, explaining that she thought it was waterproof. Frantic, of course, I ran about, arms flailing, stuffing the phone into the sand, attempting to salvage what I could.

Eventually though, I composed myself and quickly came up with a plan of action. I’d simply bring it to be repaired the following day, and if that didn’t work, I’d simply add myself to a line on Le Bae’s plan when I’d get back to DC. The iPhone 6 would be out by then, thereby lowering the price of my 5 any way. Any and all phone numbers I had were stored into the cloud, and accessible through my iPad, I could still FaceTime aforementioned Bae, RobDollaz, and I could still iMessage Kerry. Anyone else could be contacted via twitter. All was settled.

The following day I ventured hopefully to the little truck in Mandeville where Kemar, the cell phone Jesus, Ceezus, could work miracles on the worst of phones. My gut told me it would be alright. After 90 minutes of achy feet, mosquito bites and street harassment, Kemar concluded that nothing could be done. The circuit board was fried. I consoled myself with a 3 Piece and a side of Cole Slaw from KFC downtown that evening.

It didn’t take too long for me to accept my fate and move on with the my previous resolve. I’d simply get on Bae’s plan when I returned to DC in a few weeks, and use my iPad until that time came. I suppose my Apple Elitism worked in my favor, because my plan was working seamlessly.

One of the first thoughts to cross my mind after trying to salvage my phone on the beach that day was “Oh no, those pictures!” The second, and more devastating thought was “Shit, I wrote my manuscripts for Grad School on that phone!” The fact that some replaceable pictures superseded my irreplaceable manuscripts says quite a bit about where my priorities lie.

I hosted a group of friends in Jamaica during the last week of August. Selfishly and unashamed, the itinerary comprised of locations and activities I’d been yearning to experience for years. Per usual, I was excited to document the excursions, showcase my little Island to everyone, and more importantly, to stunt on you hoes. What I didn’t anticipate, however, was being phone less.

Almost as soon as they landed, my friends preoccupied themselves with documenting every moment of the trip. I can’t blame them, Jamaica is an astoundingly beautiful country. However, it felt like they were actually missing the experience by trying to document it. I watched them with a content smile, happy to be rid of the burden of capturing perfect angles and constructing candid moments.

It’s actually quite interesting how quickly I adapted to a life disconnected; from group chats, from Instagram, and from my beloved Black Twitter. I suppose losing my iPhone had as much an impact as moving away from DC. It was a welcomed disconnection and brought me clarity and peace.

I’m back in DC now temporarily, and have yet to replace the phone. Salvaging this bit of solitude for as long as I possibly can. ☺

Perhaps it’s not your phone, but may you, too, find peace and solitude also, by giving up whatever it is that holds your mind enslaved.