When I think about the cracks on my phone, I never think about which pieces are missing or question its remaining durability. Instead, I wonder why it still does so much for me. Of course this glass screen feels no pain and lacks sympathy — but through this glass screen I see my life, my interactions, my thoughts, my hobbies, my accomplishments, my struggles, and most importantly myself. Even without a camera I could see my reflection, I wouldnt even have to press a button. My phone and our phones share our experience in this day and age, an automated autobiography. Just like this phone I too am imperfect, somehow these cracks and slits and missing pieces of glass describe me. If I were to pay to fix them I would have a hard time recognizing my phone because I remember when I dropped it, I remember how quickly I picked it up and dusted it off, blew on the screen and checked if it worked. Just as I do myself.
E367: Writing and Diversity 