That's what happens when one does not clean up his phone inbox and let 5000+ messages accumulate. Lately, the phone is prone to suddenly freezing for several minutes.
Yesterday, it happened while I was on my way to an appointment; I couldn't access my client's text message so removed the SIM and microSD from the phone and let it run with minimal apps. I was able to and, after several restarts, was finally able to get the text message inbox to open and get the info I needed.
I plugged back the microSD and proceeded to back up the phone's data while on the road. I would've reformatted the phone too, but I didn't know the phone's security code to let me do that. It would've been awesome, completing a backup, complete reset and restoration in a phone while i a cab. That's my tech support self geeking out, sorry.
I just completed reformatting and restoring my phone. The 5000+ messages were backed up but I didn't restore them anymore. There were some stored messages there that I wish I could've retained to my phone, but there's no way to selectively message folders so they'll have to stay in my archives for now.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Saturday, September 11, 2010
To absent friends, lost loves, old gods, and the season of mists.
People die everyday, and for the most part we are oblivious to that basic fact unless the people who die are close to us. When that happens, a little piece of us goes away too: that part that was occupied by that person, and we are only too aware of their absence.
And sometimes, it feels like too many people are dying. Unless there was a global epidemic or major cataclysm, that probably isn't true. There might coincidentally be several people we know who left us one after the other, and the collective gravity of the loss colors our view of the world.
The other day I went to see this woman for a card reading, and she told me she came from a funeral that morning. So we talked about recent deaths.
I told her about a friend's mother. For almost a year, she was catatonic after a serious asthma attack last year that lead to a cardiac arrest. I saw her months ago and it broke my heart.
High school was spent going to my friend's house on some afternoons and his mother would always be there, joking with her son's friends. She had a earthy laugh that rings around the house. We never lost touch when us kids entered college, and after several years I became godfather to some of her grandkids.
Seeing her in bed without awareness to the people around her, without that vitality that was her defining characteristic, it was like looking at a husk of a person. It was like looking at someone else who shared her face. I thought, this was not the 'tita' I knew; she was always so full of life.
She finally passed away earlier this week. My friend told me of her last few days when I passed by her wake. Knowing what the family went through, the suffering each one endured, I said her passing is more of a relief. Her sister, my friend's aunt, saw me and remarked how her sister had been like a second mom to us. I said yes without hesitation. In some wakes, I just go out of sympathy for the family who was left behind; one of whom happened to be a friend. With her, it was paying respect to a person I knew when she was still alive.
She will be laid to rest later and I plan to go to the funeral after work so I could say good-bye.
I still think of my friend whose passing I learned more than a month later. I've never removed his number from my phone and I pause every time I see it. I'm being sentimental, I know; that number has no use now. But it's a reminder of my friend when he was still alive.
I fear mortality.
And I feel sad when I see friends post about the passing of people they love. It's a heavy burden left to the living: remembering the person when they were alive. But it's also very touching. It's proof of a well-lived life when the people you leave behind remembers you fondly.
And sometimes, it feels like too many people are dying. Unless there was a global epidemic or major cataclysm, that probably isn't true. There might coincidentally be several people we know who left us one after the other, and the collective gravity of the loss colors our view of the world.
The other day I went to see this woman for a card reading, and she told me she came from a funeral that morning. So we talked about recent deaths.
I told her about a friend's mother. For almost a year, she was catatonic after a serious asthma attack last year that lead to a cardiac arrest. I saw her months ago and it broke my heart.
High school was spent going to my friend's house on some afternoons and his mother would always be there, joking with her son's friends. She had a earthy laugh that rings around the house. We never lost touch when us kids entered college, and after several years I became godfather to some of her grandkids.
Seeing her in bed without awareness to the people around her, without that vitality that was her defining characteristic, it was like looking at a husk of a person. It was like looking at someone else who shared her face. I thought, this was not the 'tita' I knew; she was always so full of life.
She finally passed away earlier this week. My friend told me of her last few days when I passed by her wake. Knowing what the family went through, the suffering each one endured, I said her passing is more of a relief. Her sister, my friend's aunt, saw me and remarked how her sister had been like a second mom to us. I said yes without hesitation. In some wakes, I just go out of sympathy for the family who was left behind; one of whom happened to be a friend. With her, it was paying respect to a person I knew when she was still alive.
She will be laid to rest later and I plan to go to the funeral after work so I could say good-bye.
I still think of my friend whose passing I learned more than a month later. I've never removed his number from my phone and I pause every time I see it. I'm being sentimental, I know; that number has no use now. But it's a reminder of my friend when he was still alive.
I fear mortality.
And I feel sad when I see friends post about the passing of people they love. It's a heavy burden left to the living: remembering the person when they were alive. But it's also very touching. It's proof of a well-lived life when the people you leave behind remembers you fondly.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
'After all; it's the chasing after him that I really love.' RIP, Satoshi Kon.
Satoshi Kon
October 12, 1963 - August 23, 2010
Creator of several critically-acclaimed and visually stunning anime movies, such as Perfect Blue, Millennium Actress and Tokyo Godfathers, Satoshi Kon passed away the other day reportedly from cancer. At first the news passed as a series of Twitter rumors that unfortunately turned out to be true.
He was one of the most brilliant modern Japanese animators and his movies had often been a source of jaw-dropping awe. After Miyazaki, he is probably my next favorite Japanese animator. One of my favorite memories is watching Millennium Actress with my then-boyfriend: He later admitted that was on the verge of tears and wanted to hold my hand while watching some of the emotional scenes.
Rest in peace, Satoshi Kon.
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