Of The Lost, The Found And The Searching

The Lost, The Found And The Searching

In my musings, I stumbled upon a question, which on first glance seems simple but upon reflection could be quite a philosophical quest.

If you were given a box full of everything you ever lostwhat would be the first thing you looked for?

I posted this question on my Twitter and got some interesting responses from those who had lost themselves, time and loved ones to those who had lost toys, glasses, artwork and cosmetics.

Some of the responses were deeply profound and others seemed less on the surface but I am sure upon digging into the narrative behind the lose one would find an intricate tale and an encompassing sentimentality, that made of all the things you lost, this being the first that popped into your mind.

My forever lost and never found is bangle bracelet, a solid cylindrical band of polished steel. It belonged to a childhood crush, who got it from a grandmother, who in turn had got it from her mum, a connection to their homeland an ocean away, and I had lost it.

Growing up I was a precocious reader with a voracious appetite for books and in my class, she was the only person book body count rivaled (if not surpassed my own). Whenever a new book was added to the library we raced to see who would read it first or who would finish first. Her father an expatriate doctor, had a house with a room full of library shelves packed with books and some days after school, he let us peruse his vast collection.

She had a set of bangles on her arms and every time she moved her hands they jingled almost musically. At school where jewelry was not allowed, she got to keep hers on because they were her tradition and culture; looking back I can see the double standards where the black students had to conform to a set rules which did not seem to be binding to the other students. Other students could keep their hair long, while we had to get haircuts almost weekly because our kinky nappiness was unkempt. Perhaps my hair now in a small part is a rebellion to the years of being forced to conform to look a particular way and behave a certain way….

rasta wemablogs

She had shoulder length hair, bracelets on her arms, a dot of red on her forehead, and I was intrigued. Bangles are an intricate part of her Hindu tradition, she told me no woman ever bought the bangles she wore each are a gift and meaning… there’s a story behind each bangle be it a plastic one, a glass one, or even an expensive gold one, from blessings and celebrations to a remainder to not do evil with your hands.

Once I wrote her a little note, but in the way young boys can be horribly cruel, one of the guys snatched it before she could read it and the guys had a field day on my account and teased mercilessly, until they found someone else to pick on…

One day out of the blue, on the last Friday of the school term, she gave me her steel bangle, a gift from her grandmother, from before she was even born, before her parents had left India to seek their fortunes. It reminded her of a home she had never seen or her feet had never been, but home none the less.

I was flattered, I was scared, I was proud, I had butterflies, my hands shook, my palms sweated as she slid it into my hand.

All weekend long I was aware of it on my left arm, until I was starkly aware of its absence. It was gone. I retraced every step every action I had done but of course, an exercise in futility. I dreaded going back to school on Monday and was somewhat relieved when she was absent from school, then a bit worried as the days drew towards the school holiday and she had not attended class, then schools closed.

On the last day of school we moved to another town and in the next term, I begun a new adventure at a new school, made new friends and I never saw her again.

I have a charm bracelet on my arm now, it has no particular meaning but I like to kid my nephews and tell them I wore it when my hands were tiny because it seems almost impossible to remove( at least not without a pliers and hacksaw)




  1. This is such a beautiful story. I saw this on Twitter, but had pondered and never answered. On reading your story, I was reminded of something that I lost, that I was given when I was ten years old.
    I was not a happy child, not completely. I was sad because home was a sad place. I had one teacher that encouraged me to write, and another teacher who encouraged my love of poetry, as she loved it as well. She gave me a packet of poems on index cards that she had collected for years. I was a child, so I forgive myself, but I would love to have that small packet of verses back, from a lady who accepted me as I was when it meant so much to me.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. as I was writing this, I was thinking how the little things that happen when we are young might seem inconsequential as they happen but looking back in retrospect you will see how it lead you down one path or another, a word, a collection of poems on index cards……

      Liked by 1 person

  2. You are right that is a rather thought provoking question. I am not sure what I would look for, maybe it would be the feeling of security, reassurance and companionship that I used get from my sister.

    Liked by 2 people

  3. I think this is a beautiful story of what you lost. And I enjoyed reading your post. It does make you think, what did I lose? Hmmm…. Definitely my parents, I always thought I’d feel more lost without them. They are a part of my heart and soul somehow, and I often think they are “out there” watching over me so that helps me with that loss. I sometimes feel lost, but it’s more like what’s next? Life has it’s way of throwing you curve balls, so when you think you are going down one path, sometimes you can make a hard left and your going down another path. That’s how I see this crazy thing we call life! 😉😊

    Liked by 1 person

    1. life is quite a weird journey and the curve balls are something else but hey maybe the purpose of all this is to find the purpose and meaning, like we are old souls remembering what we forgot

      Liked by 2 people

      1. I love that idea, that we are old souls remembering what we forgot. 🤔 I think there’s meaning to life out there somewhere 🤫 and we will either stumble upon it or figure it out in a aha moment, maybe? 🤣 And I hope we have fun along the way of trying to find it!! 😜😲😀

        Liked by 1 person

    1. mockery can cause a lifetime of trauma for someone long after they even forgot the incident in question.

      Thank you ♥♥♥ there’s definitely something about bangles least that it gives you something to do with your hands when during awkward silences hahahahaha


      Liked by 1 person

  4. Halfway into reading the story I had a feeling you were describing an Indian girl and I was right the moment you mentioned her bangles.
    If was to find what I lost it would definitely be myself, I don’t know where I am, who I am, what I’ve become.
    I would love to find my way back again.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. hahahahahaha so yeah my first crush was an Indian girl there I said it, moving on this story was about the bracelet I think ^_^

      The purpose of life is to find out who we are, if it isnt then it should be…
      old souls remembering things long forgotten

      Liked by 1 person

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