From time to time, I do a big clean-up at home. I like to empty the cabinets, look at each item up close, reflect on what still makes sense, and decide what can already come to an end — whether through disposal or donation.

In this latest round of tidying up, I came across an item I hadn’t seen in a long time: my iPod. Yes, a silver iPod Shuffle, working perfectly well in 2025. And it wasn’t just any encounter. I don’t know if it’s because I turned 40 this year or due to some particularly sensitive lunar alignment (for those who believe), but holding that tiny object in my hands transported me to another time and brought an unexpected and rather complex reflection. Allow me to share a bit of the symbolic journey this encounter offered me.

For context: the one who bought that iPod was “Intern Juliana” — a much earlier version of the Juliana I am today. She saved money for months, asked a friend to bring it from a trip, and spent hours curating the songs that would go into it to accompany her on bus rides to college.

Later, the same iPod came along when I was a trainee, when I was unemployed, and when I started everything over again. It was always there, changing rhythms and artists depending on the time. Sometimes more rock, other times pop or dance. Even indie rock made its way into the playlist, influenced by the fads of the era. Over time, the iPod was set aside, replaced by the smartphone and music streaming, and this beloved and once-coveted object ended up in a closet drawer along with other forgotten items.

Years later, the same iPod arrived in the hands of today’s Juliana — with a different title, other degrees and references — and became a powerful trigger for reflecting on how an object is never just an object. It carries memories, life phases, identity, and emotion, functioning as a true record of our personal story.

Just like the Belgian surrealist artist René Magritte did in his painting “Ceci n’est pas une pipe” — an illustration of a pipe accompanied by the phrase “this is not a pipe” — inviting us to reflect on the object and its representation, the iPod became for me a symbol loaded with meaning.

For me, “Ceci n’est pas un iPod” — this is not just an iPod — but a full reflection of who I was, an object that encapsulated moments of my life and my symbolic consumption.

Today, it still represents me — but in a different way.