I had extremely good reasons to beg my parents to buy me a new phone.  When I was in Ortigas, my seven-year-old Nokia 3310 had problems with receiving calls and sending messages.  I offered to pay them back when I can, as long as I have a phone suitable for my needs.

   Because I’m an idiot when it comes to mobile technology, I laid out my specs: my phone must store music, it must have one helluva powerful battery, and it must not have a built-in camera.  My sister, the resident expert in mobile phones, said that such a phone doesn’t exist: whether I like it or not, I have to have a camera in my phone.

   So my mom called me up awhile ago to say that until such time that I can pay them back, I am now the proud new owner of a camera phone.  Which basically means that like many camera phone owners, I will be taking pictures of myself in every conceivable park and comfort room in the country, and post the images on my Friendster account.