Sometimes, the little air or water bubble that forms between my phone and screen protector means I cannot text. It is an occurrence I could easily fix if I just took the layers of my knock-off Otter Box apart, but I don’t, because I much prefer to send voice memos anyway. So you can hear when I am joking. So you can sense when I am not.
In the past year and a bit (a decade in panoramic years), I have sent more voice memos than texts. Sometimes, they’re 2 minutes of actual information, as if to say, “I do not understand the zoom buttons but my new day job facilitating online classes for a motivational speaker means I have to learn them so if someone could tell me how to send an alert during breakout rooms I would so appreciate it because if I ask on slack I am worried these adults will think I am dumb,” and sometimes, it’s 2 seconds of screaming, as if to say, “I am very proud of you.”
In recent months, my voice memos have gotten shorter. A few seconds, as if to say, “old white men and women at my online day job keep saying overtly racist things to me, and I don’t know how to deal with it because there is no HR department, and I know they’re saying they are liberals so I’m probably imagining it, but also, I think there are very few ways to interpret ‘white supremacy is niche’ or ‘do you get racist attacks for being south asian? Happy aapi month.’ So by the time 6pm rolls around, I don’t have much energy left to send you a voice memo. Still, hi, checking in.
As the voice memos I sent got shorter, the community of chosen family around me took notice. A song sung by a friend at midnight - 2 minutes and 12 seconds - as if to say, “I can tell through the screen you’re having a tough time. I can’t be there right now, but if I could, know that I’d sing this acoustic rendition of ‘Milkshakes’ by Kelis to cheer you up.” A good morning voice memo from another pal - 1 minute exactly - as if to say, “I’m saying good morning but this is also a reminder I will throw hands with any CEO who doesn’t pay you a fair wage for your increasing responsibilities surrounding EDI.” A 3 second mid afternoon prayer sent from a friends cat, and though it’s just purring, it sounds like Lil Hummus is saying, “I have never been the only brown person on a zoom call, I am but a cat, so I don’t know how it feels, but I too would throw hands if you told me too.”
The most recent voice memos I received were from coworkers who have learned the way I best communicate in these times of distance. Short ones, no more than a few seconds, as if to say, “Sorry to see you go! What happened?” But without being on billable hours, I can pretend the air or water bubble hovering over my keyboard expands to the microphone icon. While I am now out of office, I feel like I’m in the real world again. And it was the voices of loved ones who brought me back.
