By DAVID BATZOFIN
We live in an age where we can track a lost parcel across three continents, know exactly when our delivery driver is “two minutes away,” and binge-watch an entire series before the kettle boils. Yet somehow, we still have absolutely no idea what the person on the other end of a phone is going through.
Take phone calls, for example. Remember those? You dial, it rings, someone answers – or doesn’t – and life goes on. Today, most communication has been reduced to WhatsApp voicenotes, cryptic emojis, and the dreaded “typing…” bubble that raises your blood pressure more effectively than caffeine. But nothing quite highlights this disconnect like what happened to me recently.
I decided to call a friend and leave a cheerful, slightly cheeky message. Nothing heavy. Nothing complicated. Something along the lines of, “Hi! It’s me! Can I ask a favour of you”? Charming, right? A few minutes later, the reply pinged in: “Who is this?” Now, normally, that would spark at least three emotions: panic (“Have I dialled the wrong number?”), outrage (“How dare she forget me!”), and mild existential doubt (“Do I even exist?”). So I fired back, with a laugh in my voice: “Have you deleted me from your phone?”
Her response stopped me in my tracks: her life partner had died unexpectedly just days before. She was still trying to stand upright in an emotional storm. In that moment, my chirpy little message suddenly felt like a clown turning up at a wake to make balloon animals. And it made me think: With everything our digital selves can already do – read receipts, share locations, use predictive text that still can’t spell our names – why don’t we have a system that acknowledges humanity?
Surely, in 2025, we can invent some sort of status message for real life. Not the current WhatsApp status, which most people use to display sunsets, gym selfies, or inspirational quotes from the back of packets of sugar in our local coffee shop. I mean, rather, a simple, discreet, public-health-style alert for emotional turbulence. Something that lets callers know: Proceed gently. The heart you are trying to reach is temporarily offline.
Think of the possibilities:
The “Fragile, Handle With Care” Status:
For those dealing with grief, heartbreak, or the after-effects of watching a Springbok World Cup match that went down to the last penalty kick.
The “Please No Jokes Today” Notification:
Ideal for tax season, load-shedding schedules, or anyone trying to get a bank to answer a customer service call.
The “Try Again Tomorrow” Alert:
Perfect for parents of toddlers, owners of rambunctious Labradors, or anyone who made the foolish decision to assemble flat-pack furniture without supervision.
Or perhaps:
“The recipient of this message is experiencing temporary emotional turbulence. Please adjust your tone accordingly.”
Now that would save lives. Or at least friendships. Because the reality is this: We’re all moving so quickly, skimming, scrolling, and sending messages between red traffic lights, that we forget that the world beyond the screen still beats to a complicated, unpredictable human rhythm. Behind every “seen” notification at 11:03 and every “typing…” bubble is someone living an entire life – with grief, joy, stress, confusion, deadlines, dreams, and dishes in the sink. And while technology can bring us closer, it can also create the illusion that we’re always available, always upbeat, always ready to ‘LOL’ on demand. But we’re not. And that’s okay.
Maybe what we really need isn’t another feature or app, but simply a gentle reminder to approach each message – especially the flippant ones – with a little more compassion, a little less assumption, and a lot more curiosity. After all, life happens off-screen. And sometimes, the person you message is fighting a battle you can’t see – even if their profile picture still shows them smiling on the beach in 2017.