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trust material-agency transparency
New to the city and sitting in the back seat of a black cab late on a cold night, I stare down at the lifeless thing in my hands. Its edges rounded, its surfaces hard, the seam between glass and metal a barely perceptible crack beneath my fingers.
My sense of independence had gone in an instant. Stranded with no sense of direction, alone without geo-location overlayed onto these foreign streets. All feelings of safety and assuredness quickly evaporated as new street upon new street opened up before me. I became aware of my body as the bouncers outside of a club stared as I walked, hand defeatedly raised attempting to hail a cab while the cars sped by.
What is this thing I am entrapped by? The three extrusions along the side, the dents along the bottom, this round well so assuredly the shape of my thumb. And maybe its the few drinks I have had, but I feel betrayed by this thing. As I turn it over and over again in my hands, thinking about feminism and technology, running my fingers across the smooth surfaces of this object, considering it from every angle, the light turns on. Warmth restored to its aged battery. Or perhaps it was testing me. And already I feel foolish for having felt so afraid, dependency feeling comfortable as I check the driver is taking me the right way.