A quiet reflection on how technology shapes — and sometimes erodes — our sense of connection.
On my way to work the other morning, I boarded the hospital bus last.
A little boy, maybe around the age of entering elementary school, was sitting with a tablet in his hands, completely absorbed in a game.
The bus was somewhat crowded; a few elderly and disabled passengers were standing.
Of course, I didn’t expect the boy to give up his seat — after all, he was also on his way to the hospital.
Children should sit when riding buses or trains, for safety’s sake.
Still, I couldn’t help but notice how oblivious he seemed to the people around him.
In shopping malls, too, I often see toddlers in strollers staring at tablets handed to them by their parents.
And I wonder — what kind of adults will such children grow up to be?
There was a time when these things — these gadgets — did not exist.
When I was in elementary and junior high school, I could sense everything happening around me.
Even while reading a book or a newspaper, I could feel who was standing, who was sitting, and who might need a seat.
If an elderly or disabled person was standing while I sat, I felt ashamed.
Then came the Walkman, closing off our ears.
And later, smartphones arrived and took away our eyes.
If one grows up immersed in a tablet from birth, will one ever truly feel the world around them?
Of course, I too, as an adult, often find myself trapped by these same gadgets, blind to the world beyond the screen.
When I think about it, I can’t help but wonder —
is this what we’ve traded for “progress”?
