Pandora's Box Spring 2021

Relationships are like Phones Sophia Zhang When I was in 6th grade, I got my first phone.

It was a small thing, but the perfect size for me. It fit in the small palms of my hands and the small pockets of my jeans.

It was an older brand, but I loved it more for that because it made it modest and humble.

In short, it was perfect.

I had it for three years.

In 8th grade, my phone started smoking up while charging, and my parents immediately disposed of it. My perfect phone had broken, and I hadn’t even realized.

The next day, they got me a new phone—this time, of the newest model.

I hated it.

It was too big for my hands, it couldn’t fit in my pockets, and it was too flashy, like it had something important to say. Worst of all, it was flashy and arrogant.

I hated it.

I wanted my old phone back, though, I knew I was being ridiculous. The new phone was faster, better, and had more to give. In almost every way possible, it was an upgrade from my old, broken phone. But I didn’t want it.

I didn’t want the new phone because it wasn’t my old phone. It wasn’t the phone I had spent three years of my life with.

And really, that seemed to make all the difference.

Because somehow, in those three years, I had formed a bond with my old phone, so much so that it made an imprint on my heart I couldn’t erase with a simple replacement—no matter how much faster or bigger or better it was.

In an almost foolish way, I couldn’t let go. And I began to realize that I had treated my phone like a person, 9