Monday, February 5, 2018 I noticed today that my Kindle has a tiny scratch on the screen—nothing too serious, as it’s barely visible in most angles, but it reveals itself in various places, in the toilet, for example, where the external light casts a vague shadow over the print. I’m uneasy with its presence, like dust stuck in my eye. For a few minutes I chided myself for not getting a leather cover or a screen protector; most times, you see, I just shove my Kindle inside the satchel and grab it when I feel like reading. I tell myself the scratch is a battle scar, a testament to its utility and purpose. Now and then, as I lose myself in reading, I hardly notice the tiny scratch anyway, and when I do, I feel a certain connection to it—this device is mine! It's scarred forever. Now, with its scratches, nobody will probably bother to steal it and resell it as secondhand goods on eBay. There’s so much to be thankful for in this life, that God has provided me with earthly comforts, such as this device, which I do not deserve (and likely don't need).
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