We had to wait until the late seventies for the idiot box to intrude into our lives. For a long period, the citizens of Jelebu were cocooned from the angst of modernity. I could happily describe myself as a native from the kerosene age. Oil lamps and water from the well was our way of life. Today, I am forced into the digital age. I have become an immigrant. It is hard for an aging migrant to master the new digital culture. I did not jump with joy when the digital age arrived. I was a slow learner. I bought my first secondhand cell phone about five years ago. I obtained an email address a little earlier. I did not join any email groups. I was happily unconnected and on line meant I was fishing.

It took me three solid years to study light, speed and aperture. I was diligently following the footsteps of Ansel Adams trying to capture the perfect light and the right moment for my photographic masterpiece.

I treated my SLR Minolta X-300 as my analogue. She was always next to me with a roll of Kodak 400 for speed and ASA 50 for fine texture. We travelled everywhere – in rain, snow and storm. Our relationship ended abruptly when idiot-proof digital cameras flooded the market. My Minolta is now stuck in a box among my mouldy VHS collection. My love affair with celluloid ended even before I could produce a single work of art.

The digital age came without any warning. Until today I don’t understand what html is, how digital technology works or what it is. I looked at the Internet, YouTube, the Live Cam chat room with amazement. It was beyond my wildest imagination.

When I was living abroad I wrote between 10 and 15 letters a week. From Wavre – the little Belgium town where I learned my French and the pleasure of fermented cherries – it took almost eight days for a letter to reach Kuala Lumpur. There was the anxiety of waiting for the reply but it was compensated by the joy of seeing a letter under my door.

The digital age has taken all that away. Letters, post office and postman are a thing of the past. It only survives in the mind of an immigrant like me. Email has replaced the art of letter writing or the joy of opening an envelope. I have not been to a post office for a couple of years and have no idea how much a stamp costs. Collecting first day covers must be a dying hobby and philatelists must be a protected species by now.

I was told that the technology in the latest cell phones is amazing. With touch screens, one is online anywhere, anytime. One can send or receive mail, check one’s bank account, take pictures, capture moving images, find roads or even write a novel with the cell phone. I would not be surprised that cell phones will soon be able to brew my morning coffee.

As an immigrant entering into a new cultural milieu – I felt lost with the new digital technology. As a slow learner it was hard for me even to master sending text messages – forget about the complicated touch screen technology. For me a telephone is just an instrument to make or to receive a call.

But not for the digital natives – aged between 12 and 25 – I observe them sending text, pictures, data, and tones not only faster but also in a new grammar.

Sometimes I have the desire to return to my kerosene age. Or at least to the period where I could have a decent conversation with friends without being interrupted by some strange ringing tone from a cell phone.

I sound like Marcel Proust’s A la recherché du temps perdu – In Search of Lost Time. Not really, I am just an immigrant trying very hard to cope living with the natives of the digital age. As an immigrant, it’s imperative that I must adapt to the new culture.

Comments: letters@thesundaily.com