Almost 2025 and I am still using a dumb phone

I’m a child of the ’80s. My formative years were analog—I learned how to text with physical buttons, made calls without WiFi, and talked to people in person as the norm. Even now, analog is my default mode.

I now live in the 2020s, however. And even so, I’m notoriously anti anything too techy. But adapting to the digital age is a need—I have to find ways to cope without sacrificing my sanity. This essay is about how I stayed true to myself and the system I devised to make tech work. For me.

The process began with me using my intuition. What tech am I comfortable with? Ever since Nokia 3210, texting never felt more natural. However much I tried, texting with a smartphone did not feel natural. I bought the next best thing available nowadays in lieu of the 3210: a basic phone with 4G (as 3G is being phased out). Then, I moved my SIM card into it. Now, when I call and text, I get to press real buttons, and it feels quite right.

Next, I tackled the problem of getting a motorcycle taxi ride (in the Philippines, we use Angkas or MoveIt). At first, I thought I could manage without a smartphone. (MoveIt does offer an option for hail or habal bookings.) However, after a few days of experimentation, I discovered that some kuyas ng kalsada are just downright picky. They also tend to ignore you if you don’t use the app for booking. It took weeks of trial and error, but I’ve finally figured out how to work it. I repurposed my daughter’s old smartphone, dubbed it “The Pony,” slapped a DITO prepaid SIM inside it, and use this phone strictly for booking rides. It costs me a little extra to keep the Pony loaded, but that’s okay. Once I’ve gotten home and finished booking rides for the day, I turn this first smartphone off.

My second smartphone doesn’t have a SIM but runs apps like Gmail, a QR scanner, Pleco (my Mandarin-learning companion), and a limited number of online banking and payment apps. I like that the apps I consider risky are strictly isolated on this device—this system keeps everything compartmentalized. (Online banking still scares the bejesus out of me.)

I’d like to think that my set up lets me control tech instead of letting tech control me. This philosophy reminds me of Yuval Noah Harari’s approach to technology. Although he’s a renowned writer, historian, and thinker known for his works on tech and AI, Harari doesn’t carry a smartphone and relies on a team to manage his social media. Someday, I hope to have a team (or another person) handle my tech too! The mere thought of delegating this responsibility gives me a warm and fuzzy feeling inside.

Harari once compared information and technology to food. A century ago, food was scarce, and people ate whatever they could find. Now, we’re overwhelmed with food—much of it unhealthy—leading to health problems. He argues (and I wholeheartedly agree) that information works the same way today. We’re inundated with it, much of it junk, just fear and noise. We are begging for an information diet for our minds. In line with that, I don’t want to cram my brain with useless notifications and end up with a frenetic, perpetually distracted mind. That’s why my phone is always on silent—not even vibrate. It’s a matter of agency.

Take SMS, for example. It might seem old-fashioned compared to chats on Viber or WhatsApp, but it feels more reliable. (Internet-based messaging systems and RCS chats just drive me crazy! I’ve had countless instances where texts sent over Wi-Fi went missing or didn’t reach their recipient.) With SMS, it’s simpler and more direct. I tell everyone: if you need to reach me, just text. The bonus? I get fewer calls and texts from those pesky unknown numbers. While I do use social media and its messaging functions, I only check them on my laptop at home—not when I’m out and about in the so-called outside world.

Uncoupling my devices and choosing not to connect everything has given me an immense sense of power. Did I mention I’ve quit smartwatches too? Funny enough, just last year I was planning on getting a Garmin. Today, I use a basic digital step tracker, clipped on only when I exercise. Instead of obsessing over 10,000 steps, I let my body tell me when to rest. Sure, it’s nice to have a number in mind, but just like with my other devices, I put myself front and center.

This is my body, my self, these are my needs, and I surrender.

Despite what others might think about my seemingly roundabout ways of using technology, I’m proud of the system I’ve created. If Yuval Noah Harari has the guts to do go low-fi, so can I.

The point of all this is intentionality. And it’s not just about the devices either. I aspire to be present in the moment with the many aspects of my life. I wish to shop, eat, parent, dress, and own things intentionally. But being intentional isn’t easy. Because when I am intentional I need to accept the totality of my being. And self-acceptance hard, downright painful. There are parts of me that aren’t all that lovely, are yet unloveable and are yet to be worthy.

Just yesterday, I finalized the last element of my system: I switched from a postpaid plan to prepaid. Can you believe I held on to that postpaid number for over ten years? With this change, I feel powerful and free, like I’ve broken out of my own prison.

Prepaid is more than enough for calls and texts—it’s minimalist and practical. Why complicate things?

I realized I was clinging to that postpaid plan for the prestige, for the illusion of respect from others. But in truth, it wasn’t others who did not respect me—I was the one who didn’t respect me. Nor my wishes or dreams.

A phone plan won’t grant me self-respect nor self-esteem, neither will it make me the person I long to be five years from now, ten years from now. No material thing in the world can deliver these intangibles. There’s only one person who can do that: the woman staring back at me in the reflection of this laptop screen.