Me with my first cell phone. A light pink Motorola Razr. A flip-phone that opened like a clamshell with a small square display on the front and a larger screen hidden inside. I got it for my birthday in the summer of 2007 when I turned 11. I can still remember what it felt like to slide my thumb underneath the top layer and flip it open. The screen would snap into place with a satisfying hard stop. 

I knew I wanted the pink one. If I was choosing today, I would still want the pink one—and that I haven’t changed too much is beautiful and comforting to me.

I would press each button one, two, or three times to enter my text messages. I believe there was a light sound effect with each press? One time, I was texting a boy, who texted me, “wdywtta.” I did not know what that meant and I had to ask my friend to translate. It meant “what do you want to talk about.” I thought that was so unromantic.

This photo is from 2008. My family was on vacation at SeaWorld in Orlando, Florida. I’m wearing an American Eagle T-shirt that I bought with my mom at the Capital City Mall outside of Harrisburg, the capital of Pennsylvania. I grew up in a town nearby called Mechanicsburg. 

I do not remember anything about this hat. And I don’t know what ever happened to my little Motorola Razr. At some point, I moved on to a sleek black touch screen phone that slid up to reveal a keyboard. Then, finally, to an iPhone, which I still use today. But when I think about my first pink flip phone… I miss her with all of my heart.

Three years ago, I began to collect imagery of pretty machines. Maybe my way of holding on to her spirit?