Emotions can devour reason.
True composure lies in rescuing reason from them.
I first read that line in a novel when I was a boy. And over the years, I’ve come to see how quietly true it is. You may find yourself drawn to a car you wish to buy, a piece of clothing you adore, or a person you desire — any craving, really. Watch closely, and you’ll sense the storm within: an emotional tsunami, with your mind rushing to justify it. “If I buy this, I’m helping the people who make it survive,” you might say.
Desire has a way of disguising itself as purpose. And when it takes hold, reason retreats.
For me, that desire took the form of technology — the phantom hum of circuits that enchanted me since boyhood. As a college student, I was captivated by the Sony Walkman — that little miracle that turned solitude into symphony. The world could fade, yet music stayed close, whispering in my ears like a friend who never judged.
When I began earning, that fascination evolved. I moved from the Walkman to the portable CD player — the Sony Discman, sleek and modern in its time. Then came the iPod — and I owned every generation. It was no longer about music alone, but about the sheer joy of having the best, the newest, the most refined. Each device felt like a personal milestone — a quiet statement of progress.
Then came 2007 — the year the iPhone was born. I resisted, watching from afar, telling myself I didn’t need it. But by 2009, I gave in. And once I did, the cycle began — one phone after another, brand after brand, year after year. Sixteen years and at least a hundred phones later, I see it for what it was: not curiosity, but compulsion. The thrill of the new had become a chain — invisible, yet unbreakable.
There was always a growing shade of awareness, a faint light of reason behind the desire — but it could not extinguish the flames of emotion that fed it. I justified my habit, convincing myself that I wasn’t spending recklessly because I always sold before I bought again. But beneath that clever arithmetic was a quieter truth — the loss of time, the slow drift away from purpose.
With every upgrade came a momentary high and a silent fatigue. Possession had replaced passion. The boy who once marveled at the music had become the man who worshipped the device.
By the time I turned fifty, I knew it was time to confront it — not with guilt, but with clarity. Not renunciation, but awareness. Not suppression, but mastery.
And so, I publish this reflection in public and share it to stand witnesses to the execution of my commitment.
I will stay with the current device Pixel 8 Pro until it fades.
This act is not victory. It is vigilance — the first step in reclaiming the power to choose consciously.
My change in appearance bears the fragility of a shadow more than the strength of the self. Yet I place my trust in the power and benevolence of God’s grace to guide me through the process of reclaiming a mind once captive to possessive desire. I will revisit this transformation a year from now and share an update to this reflection on November 4, 2026.