A Love Letter to My iPod Touch

 Dear iPod Touch 7th Generation,

When I reached the concluding gift of my 11th birthday and unwrapped you, neatly arranged in Apple’s signature white box, I felt happier than ever before. There you sat in all your glory, complete with all of the amenities an iPhone had, besides a phone number. You were the perfect gift for a sixth grader like me, whose parents believed that letting their kid have a phone at such a young age would rot their brains, but somehow, they approved a virtually identical device. 

From then on, I treated you with the utmost respect. I picked out a sturdy, durable case, so as not to scratch your radiant rose-gold metallic finish. I perfectly attached a plastic screen protector after several bubble-filled, failed attempts. I even made sure to charge you only during the day, instead of overcharging you while sleeping and consequently ruining your battery. All in all, I kept you in pristine condition. 

Unfortunately, my romanticized view of you couldn’t completely hide the occasional imperfections. Of course, explaining to my friends why they needed to text my iCloud email address rather than a regular phone number was difficult and slightly embarrassing. I felt a similar way when I couldn’t make regular calls and had to rely on FaceTime instead. I tried to remedy these grievances by downloading Talkatone, an app I had discovered on the internet that supposedly let you create a free US phone number, something that you did not feature. Sadly, I had to delete the app shortly after downloading it, due to a concerning number of spam calls I was receiving from my “new” number.

The last and most annoying issue you had was your minuscule amount of storage. At only 4.86 inches in height and 2.31 inches in width, you did not have a lot of room for the updated hardware and modern components that the iPhones of your time possessed. You gave me a mere 32 GB of storage, most of which was taken up by system data, and I hardly had room for photos and apps. There was no fix for this issue, so I was saddened to have to delete apps and photos every time my storage reached its limit. 

You had your issues, but they never came close to overtaking your good qualities. To a previously screen-free kid, you were my gateway to freedom. I downloaded apps and social media that my parents definitely had not approved of me having. I took completely unnecessary and bad-quality photos whenever I got the chance. I triumphantly discovered the screen time passcode shortly after my parents imposed it. When COVID hit, I texted my friends during Zoom meetings and played games on FaceTime. 

I relinquished you at the beginning of 8th grade, in exchange for my mom’s used iPhone 7. By then, your battery life had dwindled to a few short hours, and your front camera had completely stopped working. Although I was excited to finally have a real phone, especially a working phone number, the feeling was nothing compared to how I felt when you were gifted to me two years prior. 

Since then, I have replaced my phone several times with a newer, faster version. But more than anything, I wish I could return to when you, my iPod touch, were entirely new territory for me. There may have been a few minor inconveniences, but I never considered replacing you or spending time constantly searching for an upgraded version of you, as I, like many others, do nowadays. Instead, I appreciated and treasured you as you were, which is a sense of contentment and gratefulness that I miss and hope to replicate.