Lost and Found

It was Tuesday night when I was lying in bed and out in the blue something hit me: Where is my ring! Not exactly a question, but an alarming exclamation mark that kicked me right out of that after-dinner lazy moment, and the bed too. I scrambled around turning the room upside down, digging and groping for that diamond ring my mother had given me a few months ago before I headed back to U.S. Never a jewelry person myself except for some fun, cheap things to satisfy my spur-of-the-moment girly fancy, but then and there I was almost panicking with fear. The ring was more than a piece of expensive jewelry. It was something my mother had purposely saved and tailored made for me. She eyes were glowing from the joy of surprising me when she opened that blue velvet box where the white gold diamond ring twinkled back in a matching glow. I remember making a big show of “oooh” and “wow” while I put it on my tawny, wrinkled finger. It looked totally wrong, and yet it was perfect because it made my mother happy.

That night ended with me going to bed with a heavy load of sadness and regret. I remembered finally that I had put it in my pocket during my morning walk a few days ago and then totally forgotten about it afterwards. Clearly my forgetfulness and carelessness proved me again unworthy of any good things, but most importantly my mother’s trust and faith. I have been the notorious klutz in a family of my opposite – organized, driven and competent. And a diamond ring put me back in that corner where everyone’s reprimanding look became my worst punishment. I went back to work with the smallest thread of hope that it might be either at my desk or turned in to the lost and found. No luck with both. By then I was finally forced to face the ultimate verdict: the ring was gone.

Why do we never love back till we lose it? I had worn the rings less than a dozen of times for the duration of 5 months. Even when it did show up on my finger, it was hardly accompanied with much pride – in fact, I’d pay much more attention with my coworkers’ accessories. How pretty their rings, bracelets and necklaces look! How I wish I had something like that! While I envied their acquisition, my ring sat forgotten in my cheap plastic “jewelry box”, accompanied by their same fated friends that I showed little regard of. Now that it is gone, my affection has miraculously resurfaced. How beautiful my ring was! How I wish it were still here! Like any unfaithful lover that faces the loss of his love, I was buried in such intense remorse that I would have reversed time and moved the heaven and earth to recover it at all cost.

I didn’t have to work that much. 3 days’ regret was all it took to bring back time and space when I found my ring under the bed, where I had searched, or I thought I had. Imagine the ecstasy and surprise I had as I held it in my palm, my eyes wide open and my heart pumping as if it were going to stop. Fate has taken a pity on my grief and pardoned me from my sin of negligence! What accompanied the joy was a renewed vow of devotion and protection. The prodigal son has come home to stay for good.

I thought of another lost and found and wondered if it has recovered my allegiance from the 2nd round around like my ring. It too disappeared, only much slowly and less noticeably over a good period of time. The void from its absence, though not as dramatic, brought far more casualty than my ring ever did. I was living, but not alive, seeing without eyes and walking yet going nowhere. Its reappearance was just as soundless as its evanescence with a dose of calming assurance instead of delirious thrill. There was no magic moment or drama as I felt when I found the ring under the bed. I remember that day during my morning coffee time with D, just like that, I said thoughtfully to him: “I think I am saved”, as in He was as real as day 1 when we first met in that room, the constant in my ever wandering heart for the past 30 years and the only hope for a fleeting life like this.

Never find myself lucky, but this time I have to declare exactly the opposite. A double dose of lost and found, two second chances – you couldn’t get luckier than this.