If I could go back to reference the text history with the last guy I was interested in and point out all the instances where what I was trying to say was lost in translation, I couldnāt. Why? Because itās not there! I deleted it. I was unsure about my responses, so I didnāt want to be reminded of it. Thereās no evidence that we communicated, not even a trace.
When your identity is a little grey bubble, itās easy to be whoever you want to be. You can take seconds, minutes, hours, or even days to come up with something to say. Thereās an endless amount of silence at your disposal to choose the right words. If you donāt know what something means, you can mull it over, or get second opinions from your friends. Often, a text that is sent doesnāt capture the intent of the message.Ā Ā It adopts a myriad of identities: your best friend, the co-author, the self you think is most appealingāan exemplary and idyllic knight in shining armor.
The longer time ticks after a text is sent, the more the anticipation builds. The anxiety of a virtual ellipsis that appears and vanishes gives me heart palpitations every time Iām texting someone Iām romantically interested in. It usually leads me to powering off my phone, manically pressing the home button every two minutes, or hurling it across the room.
Read receipts are all the more confusing. When the message Iāve sent has been seen without a reply, I often feel dejected. Did they intend for their reader to see the message as read? Was it oblivion? Did they get sidetracked? Itās interesting that I feel this way about read receipts when I myself have them turned on. Personally, I keep mine on because it holds me accountable to respond right away. Otherwise, Iāll probably never get to it out of laziness. I know some other people keep them on as an antagonistic power move or to play games.
Last weekend, I asked my friends their opinions on what I should text the guy Iāve been talking to. Iād only spent the night with this guy a few times, and didnāt want the text to sound annoying or intrusive. I realize this was overly analytical, but I was stumped on what to say. There was āHeyā plain and simple, āHeeeyā with three Eās, āHey Heyā, āHiā, and a number of other greetings. Then, the question of whether or not I ask him a follow-up question: āHow was your weekend?ā The majority ruled yes, and I sent it.
Although it should be normal to text someone youāve been intimate with, I felt like the underdog. Maybe it was my own ego combusting, but it seemed like a wearisome attempt at holding a conversation. I do this thing where I label myself as the lesser one, rather than treating myself as an equal to my partner. In my head, Iām the clingy one if I initiate conversations. Of course, I understand this is a futile train of thought.
Evidently, so much is lost in translation when youāre using a keyboard alone to communicate. Iām cringing at the frivolity of the whole thing, but I canāt help but psychoanalyze my halfĀ of the conversation. Impressing someone Iām trying to woo via text message is quite literally an art form. Matching their syntax to the intended tone of voice can be a labyrinth, especially when the situation may already be a game of cat and mouse.
Iām only using the dating dynamic as an example because itās an experience thatās most fresh in my mind. Iāve encountered similar issues in texting with friends: sounding cold or removed because I used lowercase, excluded emojis, or was active on social media without responding to a text message.
Itās not so much what gets lost in virtual translation, but the ambiguity of voiceless communication.Ā To me, reading the text message of someone Iām getting to know is the equivalent of decoding something foreign.