Overreaction may have been a case there, but "32 missed calls" and "37 unread messages" would make any anti-social bastard feel like the most wanted guy in town. As I scrolled down the list of calls, I figured I might have done a Rip Van Winkle, but I knew better than that. I also thought it was my news editor and that the world was going to explode and I had to rush to my beat immediately.
When I finished, anxiousness turned into puzzlement as I noticed that none of the calls were registered numbers on my phone. And the messages were all either "can we be text pals?" or some crappy forwarded shit I didn’t really care for. I was watching the early news on TV while pondering about the situation when a girl I’ve been seeing on-and-off (mostly off given her schedule) rang me up.
Matt? I can’t believe you’d stoop this low! Ang babaw mo ha!" she yelled over the phone.
"Ano? Baket?" I innocently asked.
"Don’t play that naïve crap game with me! Don’t you have any friends?"
"What the hell are you talking about, Liddy? Hindi ko kelangan ’yan sayo ngayon ha! I’m in a bit of a problem here! Dozens of people I don’t know have been..."
"Dozens lang!? I at least thought na aabot ng isang daan ’yan! Given the fact that you put your number in a tabloid looking for text buddies! Loser!"
"Wha? Wh-what paper?" I babbled.
Without bothering to change my pajamas, I started the car and raced down to the nearest newspaper stand. I grabbed the tabloid Liddy told me and began scanning the pages rapidly. And yes, there it was before my widened eyes. I saw my name and cell number printed on one of those "textmate forums."
If anxiety became confusion a while ago, it quickly twisted into shock and then rage. Who would do such a thing to me? And why? After stifling doubts that I myself could have been the culprit of one of my drunken nights, I began burning the phone lines and yakked angrily at friends, accusing them of playing such a horrible prank. And when no one confessed (not even under extreme, expletive-filled line-to-line interrogation), I rushed back home and sat on the dining table  my cheap mobile still ringing with unknown numbers along with pathetic messages. I was so miserable that I almost cried.
When you analyze it, it may sound lowbrow and somewhat idiotic if I didn’t want this to just take its toll and die a natural death. But I really wanted to get to the bottom of it all. How would you feel if your personal gadget has been ridden with strange and even threatening posts by every nutjob from here to Timbuktu? I thought so. Now I do not mean to offend anybody who goes for this kind of stuff (if I already have, my sincerest apologies), but it’s just not my cup of tea. Anyway, I reluctantly left my mobile inside my underwear drawer and left for the office without it (I was that pissed).
But just like any man (or boy) who gets pushed into a corner, I did come out swinging with the best of them (well, I tried at the very least). I calmly called up media people I knew and asked them to "help me out." And soon enough, I was able to find out who the sad dickhead was behind the lovable joke (you’re lucky I’m not playing fire with fire, pare!). Now my rage turned into wickedness. And a dreadful smile spread across my lips. Now the hunter becomes the hunted, I thought.
Oh, how I mused over my sweet revenge for hours as I went about my work. I planned to have the bastard’s name and number posted on the Internet dating sites and several publications (I began circling possibilities on the buy-and-sell paper). I even went as far as considering paying for airtime to have his picture on TV. I was so out of it that before lunchtime even came around, I was already exhausted.
That afternoon, I wasn’t in the mood to go out. I completely ignored invitations from officemates for a movie, and went home. I wanted to get started on this, I thought: The biggest comeback prank of all-time that even the most jaded individual would have to take notice. That ought to teach him to mess with me!
Gnashing my teeth, I took out my cell phone and began to erase more of the amassing unwanted messages while inadvertently reading some of them along the way. I was definitely calm now. And just like that, my heart sank. I couldn’t believe it myself, but it really did.
Most of the posts actually turned out to be sweet, touching and inspiring. Before long, I was reading a lot and smiling intuitively at every one of them. It has indeed become a smaller world and has made making friends a whole lot easier. And although I would hate to admit it, I replied to all of them and politely declined the offers  explaining my side, of course.
It suddenly dawned on me that there are thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, in the same boat of longing. Be it an ache for friendship, love, or a simple "textmate" as the kids call it can be used as crutches to have fun or mend a broken soul. It’s almost like an exclusive club about "instant friendship" and I kicked myself for the cynical thoughts I had about those people. For a day, I felt I was "in."
My feelings of wickedness slowly evolved into delight and I soon found myself laughing softly at the responses of these guys. And I began to appreciate the value of words even more.
So to my ferocious buddy who had my name and number posted for the whole nation to see, this I have to say: Thank you. Thank you for taking me down a peg or two. And thank you, too, for making me feel absolutely wanted by people  even for just a day.
(Author’s note: A young writer-friend recently asked for my opinion if it’s better and more "classy" to write articles in the third person. I told her not to give a rat’s ass and just write. It doesn’t matter if it’s in the first or ninth person, folks. As long as you get your message across, nobody should really give a damn.)