Being born a millennial

All this fuss about being born a millennial, I do not understand it. There’s a whole other generation after us that’s smarter, quicker than us. Ahh… the memories: we remember a life before mobile phones, Whatsapp and Instagram. Where you had to wait days to see if your family portrait that Mama got you spit shined for actually looked like.
Where you cold called your friends and hoped they were home so that you could run out and play.
Where you polished your own shoes and if you didn’t make parade you only had yourself to blame.
We grew up with the last pay phones some of which were in phone booths needing exact change and Telkom dial-up cards for landlines. I have less than fond memories of trying to use the Telkom dial up card at the doctor’s office. I joined the walking nation that day. Good thing we were always taught to know the route you took to get here is the same route you take to get back home.
Apparently,  that time those larger than life mobile phones were twice the size they are now and twice the price. I wonder what became of them? Relegated to antiquity?
Of dial-up Internet connections that took so long you could swear paint dried faster. And staring at the walls became an inevitable part of getting online. We were the last of the generation that had to write letters to our friends in boarding only to have them read by the matron and edited of all the juicy gossip: yes my dear I know you read my mail because the reader always got chunks of details blocked out that had to filled in after the end of term when we met.


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