Back in the days of handwritten letters, waiting was part of the process.

You wrote it, sealed it, mailed it, and then waited for a reply. That waiting wasn’t wasted time. It was part of the communication itself.

Then came email. It was faster, but still had a layer of formality. You could reply a few hours later, even a day later. The message was still “in progress,” not chasing you down. After that came chat apps. Then the “Read” receipt. And later, the almost creepy “typing…” indicator.

Suddenly, “read but no reply” became a crime. A social offense. People could clearly see that you were online. That quiet pressure started to sink in, heavy and persistent.

I once had an Indian colleague who loved using WhatsApp for work. Most companies use Slack or Teams, at least there’s some boundary a defined “work space.” But he preferred WhatsApp on the phone. Maybe that’s just normal business practice in India. The problem was that time zones, weekends, and rest hours would all disappear the moment the phone buzzed. One message answered, another one came in. Endless. If you didn’t reply, it felt rude. If you did, you were pulled in again. That wasn’t communication. It felt like being hijacked.

What makes it worse is that instant replies are now considered polite. Slow replies look like bad attitude. But instant replies leave no room to process. The human brain is not built to react in real time. It needs delay. It needs digestion. It needs that simple sentence: “Let me get back to you.”

Today’s chat tools assume we are always online, always available, always ready. But we are not servers. And voice messages make it even more intense. One 60-second green bubble after another. You can’t skim, you can’t scroll, you can’t jump to the point. If they talk for a minute, you are locked in for a minute. That’s not convenience. That’s outsourcing time cost to you.

Over time, I noticed people developing a kind of “social self-defense.”
· 👍
· OK
· LOL
· Haha
· Mm
· An emoji
Just enough to respond, but not enough to extend the conversation. Like holding a shield. You’re present, but you’re not overexposed.

I used to be the instant-reply type. Now I’ve stopped. I no longer feel obligated to respond immediately, and I no longer allow others to expect that from me. It’s not coldness. It’s reclaiming my rhythm.

What really exhausts us isn’t the number of messages. It’s the subtle message behind every message: “Respond now.”

What I miss isn’t the slow old days. It’s the version of myself who could comfortably say, “I’ll reply later.”

A response shouldn’t be a reflex. It should be a choice. Maybe what we’re really trying to protect isn’t time. It’s the ownership of when and how we respond.



—— XC Scribbles · 壹佰肆拾柒 CXLVII 💬