After over four years of good and loyal service, my Nokia 3100 has passed away.
I came to think of my Nokia 3100 as my guardian angel and I'm parting from it with difficulty.
I pledged to change it only after I reached the number of 10,000 sent text messages... and I actually went beyond that, sticking to it till it stopped working completely, last week.
I bought my Nokia 3100 in late 2004 or early 2005. It was still young when we left for Cambodia but it accompanied me bravely in my endeavours. It fell bravely with me in the Kirirom (in this post it's not in my pocket though a few minutes before in the previous, unexpected, fall into the Kirirom, it was...) after which I dried it, left it off for two weeks and to my great surprise found it working perfectly when I turned it back on!
It fell innumerable times. It was immersed again in the water (in a toilet, to be precise!) at which point I came to think of it as indestructible.
It rode the streets of Phnom Penh with me, behind the motodops. It traveled to Ratanakiri (where it lost its charger at the timeless Terres Rouges hotel). It came home safely to Paris with me. It rode with me 6,000 kilometers in and outside Jerusalem on Jolly Jumper. It visited Petra with me. It made aliyah with me. It rode 1,000 km with me on the new Honda Innova. It walked Wadi Hissa with me.
Lately it was suffering from old age and too many falls. And now its time has come. It fell once too many.
I replaced it with a Nokia 5800 hoping the new telephone will serve and protect me just as faithfully.
Farewell Nokia 3100. Shame I never gave you a name.
2 comments:
Farewell to your faithful phone. It's true, you should have given it a name. All things which travel through life with us should have names. My phone is named Gizmo, and I have had it for much fewer years than you had yours. I hope your new phone will accompany you on many more adventures
tu me rappelles la rupture d'une de mes tongs a chypre en avril dernier... ces memes tongs que j'avais a Jerusalem pendant mon stage, ces tongues que j'ai portées le long de mon exode paris-jerusalem, ces tongs qui me reliaient a milles terres foulées...
donc je ressens bien ce que tu ressens ! le bon cote, c'est que ca fait remonter tous les souvenirs...
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