No doubt, text messaging is a technological wonder that can bring happiness to a family. It makes easier for parents to track their children’s whereabouts throughout the day and saves them from the aggravation of not knowing where their kids go cavorting in this increasingly dangerous world.
Text messaging makes modern-day living a lot easier and more convenient. We Filipino magicians find it helpful in our conduct of business. Heaven knows how many shows we have booked with the use of nifty cellular phones.
Still, text messaging encourages all types of anonymous writers trying their hands (or fingers?) at writing humor, gossips, news stories, commentaries, and even literary pieces like poems short enough to fit the screens of cellular phones.
Most of these literary outputs beg deletion. I do delete 99.99% of them, because for the most part I can’t stand inanity, rotten humor, inaccurate news, and gossips so implausible you know they are gossips. For that matter, I don’t share text messages even though they beg me to forward them to friends or threaten me with bad luck if I don’t.
I suspect that somewhere in the netherworld of text messaging, a happy family with no better things to do is composing these messages. While some of the messages are destined to the bin, others somehow have enough sensible content to become viral. As a result, cellular phone owners will have to contend for a long time to come with the inescapable prospect of text messages assaulting their mobile phones with inanities and pedestrian literature.
The familiar complaint is that trash comprises majority of the deluge of text messages we receive. Statistics, however, have a happy way of balancing out this sorry state of affairs. Once in a million millions, a gem materializes from out of the text messaging junkyard to make us sit, notice and happy.
Such is the case with a text I received from a The Chinaman George Mamonluk. It is a poem purportedly written by an African child. Though I doubt that part, I enjoy immensely the poem. Its folksy humor made me smile and its preachy message made me laugh. Short, sweet, and to the point, the poem is such a gem that I’m willing to break my rule of not sharing text messages with friends.
It is also racism in reverse. A balanced one, I may add.
To improve readability, I corrected the shortcut spelling (which seems to be the standard of text message writing) of the original message.
Here it is. Enjoy it regardless of the color of your skin.
This poem was nominated for the best poem of 2005. It was written by an African kid.
When I born, I black.
When I grow up, I black.
When I go in the sun, I black.
When I scared, I black.
When I sick, I black.
And when I die, I still black.
And you white fella…
When you born, you pink.
When you grow up, you white.
When you go in the sun, you red.
When you cold, you blue.
When you scared, you yellow.
When you sick, you green.
And when you die, you gray…
And you calling me colored?