© Ph Andrea Rosati

NINETEEN EIGHTY-FIVE

Mina sings The Beatles, Oh Darling…
I find myself pondering possession and progress. World is undergoing a profound transformation.
I grew up during the golden age of prosperity, the dazzling ’80s: unstoppable growth, booming economy, jobs and opportunities knocking at every door, cutting-edge technology, and the prices of appliances becoming more and more accessible—these were the terms of the decade and would become the key words for the next. Widespread internet was just a dream and communication relied on pen and paper. The inkwell had already been tucked away.
Today, we wield smartphones to swap messages, snap photos, share videos, hold virtual meetings, and collaborate on projects with colleagues oceans apart. We check train schedules, snag tickets for concerts, museums, and movies, make bank transfers, read the news, immerse ourselves in the lives of others, pay at the supermarket, reserve our spots at the post office, and indulge in music—our favorites, the radio, or those elusive tracks we once lost.
Technology has reshaped our lives so drastically that we’d struggle to replace the needle on a record player (there are tutorials on YouTube for that!), not to mention the joy of rewinding cassette tapes with a pencil, threading that timeless, notched reel. Today, countless platforms let us stream millions of songs for pennies compared to the price of an album, be it on CD or, for the vintage enthusiasts, vinyl. We can listen to music anywhere, relishing the freedom to enjoy without the burden of ownership, to switch genres and artists with a mere click. We use but do not accumulate. Most of the time.
But let’s go back. It was 1985, and I was 11. On a July day, my birthday, my father arrived with a large package. I remember his proud expression as he watched me laugh under his mustache.
You’ll like it, I’m sure.
Seated cross-legged on my bed, I eyed the gift with curiosity. Over the years, I had learned my father’s gift-giving style: never practical, always leaning toward the latest novelty and technology. I began to unwrap it, reluctant to tear the paper—something I’ve never enjoyed. Even now, I take my time unwrapping a gift, as long as it took the giver to wrap it. After a moment, he looked at me in disbelief.
Come on, littel girl, you can rip it open; no one will complain.
Encouraged by his words, I tore away the remaining paper. A large box, white, black, and blue, left me speechless. I stared at the printed images, completely puzzled. I could tell it was a machine for something, but I couldn’t imagine what.
It’s a CD player… for listening to music.
My eyes sparkled with joy; I was the only one among my friends to own one. We spent the afternoon assembling it, connecting it to the amplifier and speakers, and then… but wait! What? We had no CDs to play.
Get dressed, quick! Let’s see if Lucifredi has anything left in the shop. Otherwise, we’ll be waiting two days!
I got ready in record time, and we hurried along. The store was closed. Resigned, we walked back home, where my mother welcomed us from the living room with a knowing smile.
From that day on, I became a true collector of CDs, which still accompany me through frequent moves, burdening me with the material weight of over thirty years of purchases, passions, and possession.
To organize my treasure, I bought a notebook where I meticulously listed my CDs in alphabetical order. Each album received a number and a letter, carefully penned on a small adhesive label, placed in the top right corner of each precious cover.
After thirty-five years, I still keep that little book, but I embrace technology with joy.