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Most of us think of our old phones as obsolete tech, a gadget to be wiped then traded in, or stowed away in the back of a dusty cupboard.
But they are our most constant companions, sitting snug in our pockets all day and lying next to our heads at night. So, it’s only inevitable that they become a sort of waypoint -- a marker of the wheres and whens, a scaffold to hang our memories on.
Of course, not all phones are equal. Some skirt around the edges of my recollection, blurry technological afterimages: a black Siemens clamshell, a sliding red...HTC?
But others left deeper impressions, like the Nokia N86 that I used to read fantasy books on, or the iPhone 3Gs with the metallic pink case that I accidentally left behind in a motel on a road trip across the United States.
My very first phone was the Nokia 8250. I remember my dad bringing me to the M1 shop to pick one out, and me fizzing with excitement at finally being old enough to have one.
What sold me on the 8250 was it’s blue backlight, a novelty at that time, and for which we paid a premium.
Leaving the shop, gadget in hand, I felt like I had grown up, and finally gained access to this hitherto unknown section of adulting.
Read the rest of the story on Stirr.