My Second Ukulele

Two years ago I bought my first ukulele - the white ukulele. It was great, walking around bending the string, annoying everybody. A year later before heading off to another country I had to get another one. Well, I didn't have to really, only one of the tuning pegs was chewed and unusable. I could have fixed it, maybe, but it was so cheap that it was easier just to get a new one, that's also why I bought it originally, there's no problem if it breaks as it's so cheap. An expensive one would make me protect it too much that it wouldn't escape the bedroom, much less travel.
This one - the orange ukulele - got around, it passed nine countries and survived the trip back. And then got stolen back home at a shitty festival. It was mildly annoying. Not economically, it was cheap and this was always possible. But it left a bad taste in me, like I returned home only to be robbed. I feel this still, only more generally. At the same time it was refreshing, I felt no feelings of missing. I feel delivered from materialism. Someone told me it was important, that I should be angry, but my memories aren't in an object, they are in me.
The latest one - the pink ukulele - is the same, only pink, the difference is negligeble. I feel there was a seamless transfer. A kind of instant ship of Theseus, sans the process in between.