Maya Williams, 16, is a student at Stroud High School and an aspiring writer.

She lives in Chalford.

MY MOTHER, ever the traditional woman, initially rejected all use of the new shiny smartphone we bought her for Christmas last year.

“I like my old one,” she would protest, clutching her ancient tiny flip phone.

She did her best to avoid it, choosing to make calls and type out the occasional laborious text on the other. When she finally did give in and attempt to use her new phone for the first time, her confusion in regards to the function of each on-screen icon forced her to write instructions while I explained how to copy and paste, etc.

Although maybe it was a bad idea to teach her how to use her phone, I decided, when I woke at midnight to Marvin Gaye blasting out from downstairs because she didn’t know how to pause the video.

It’s very funny watching people who didn’t have technology in their childhood comically struggling with simple things like navigating YouTube – and I had to teach both my parents how to use Facebook before I even got an account myself. It’s not that they’re stupid, my parents are both professionals – my uncle, a university lecturer, couldn’t even figure out how to set his profile picture on WhatsApp.

My constant internet usage has always been a cause of conflict in the family, particularly since GCSEs. It’s not even like I’m always on social media – I barely even use it, spending more time on AO3 than I do on Facebook. I don’t even have Snapchat. So imagine my indignation when my mother suddenly transmitted her life from reality into WhatsApp, messaging her friends and relatives in Hong Kong while my own internet time became consistently more monitored and restricted because it “wasn’t good for me”.

Granted, I’m an A-level student and should probably be more focused on my studies than on fanfiction. But still.

“Get off your telephone,” my father would say to me constantly, while right next to me my mother is engrossed in an apparently hilarious WhatsApp conversation with her Chinese friends. Who even calls them telephones these days anyway?

My mother is thoroughly addicted to WhatsApp now. I want to grow up until I’m old enough to use the Internet whenever I want. I had a twenty-something online friend who talked to me all morning once, except time zone differences across the Atlantic meant that she was pulling an all-nighter to communicate. When asked “why?” by thirteen-year-old me, her response was simply “because I can.”

My cousin, a year younger than me, doesn’t like Facebook, even though she seems absolutely hooked; “Facebook is boring,” she would say, while simultaneously scrolling through her feed; and “put that wretched telephone down,” my father would say while trying to have a conversation with her. It’s like a life source for a lot of people.

When I leave home, my mother wants us to create a WhatsApp group chat to stay in touch. It’s like she’s been brainwashed by the incredible wonders of social media – parental encouragement of use of sites like WhatsApp is almost unheard of. But it’s nice to see the older generation clumsily embracing the modern technology that is mercilessly taking over everyone’s lives. And maybe we’ll, at last, be able to have a proper conversation when we’re in a group chat together.