This is the story about my things going missing or to be more exact, given away without me even knowing that I gave it away. I had a mouse (not the live one) and it was a really good mouse. And I loved it. Sure, I had to change the batteries when the red light started blinking and I always found it bothersome to hunt around for fresh batteries but I would have gladly changed all the batteries in the world if it meant having my mouse back to myself.

I mean, I don’t even say anything about my things being mysteriously taken and claimed rightfully as others’ stuff yet there are some people who think I’m a selfish little girl who only exists in a world of I, me, my and mine. Thank you, I so believe in you too. I’m just trying to say how weird it is that people take my things and never return them and have the face to claim my things as theirs. Has anyone ever done that to you?

I love you, mouse. You will forever be in my heart even though you are in the hands of a doubled-faced beast.

And then there was my bag. But that was, what, five or six years ago. Yes, that long ago. My beloved messenger bag that dad had given to me. It was a beautiful bag and I had many uses for it. It had cute pockets and handy compartments. Then lo and behold, the predator spots it and puts his claws all over my bag, asking to borrow it for a couple of days. So me being me (I’m generous though nobody sees it), I lent it to the predator … who never gave it back. When I tried to look for it, I couldn’t find it. Not only had it been swallowed by the predator, it had also been lost in the process.

Oh, well. I never tried to look for it anymore because somehow I knew that I would never see it again. But strangely, after six years (this bag has been constantly on my mind whenever I have small events to go to because it’s real dandy and I like using it), one day the bag turns up. Sadly, I’m not interested in the bag anymore. So now it sits outside and when I look it, sometimes I wonder where it’s been in all the six years it’s been missing. Kind of like a missing child, no?

I loved you, messenger bag. But it’s not the same anymore. You’ve probably been abused and I feel for you.

Ms Eraser went missing sometime last year. She was the prettiest thing I’d ever laid my hands on. She was good with paper and ink and I never let anyone use the square side that hadn’t been used before. I have this OCD thing about only using one end of the eraser. If someone takes my eraser and rubs with the unused end, they know they’re in for the time of their life. I swear, if it’s one thing I’m crazy about, it’s the unused side of the eraser.

So anyways, I always carry extra stationery in case I lose some or break some. I had two erasers when the predator asked to borrow my eraser. And it turned out that I had just started using a new eraser so I could spare an eraser to the predator. Guess what happened? My eraser never came back until months later and by the time it came back, it was unrecognizable. I even denied that it belonged to me because it was all gritty and ugly. Now I keep it safely with me and hardly use it because it’s crumbling to pieces. Yes, I know that I’m very attached to things.

Ms Eraser, I adore you. You’re safe now.

There were so many other things but these were/are the most important ones. I don’t understand why anyone would just take someone else’s things and claim them as theirs and not return them to their rightful owner but apparently, shit happens. And shit usually happens to me. I have this sheer luck that never fails to get me into sticky situations like this.

Feeling pretty dark right now so it’d be best for me to end the post.

The next post will prolly be about how people don’t understand what I’m trying to say. Trust me, nobody really knows what the message that is trying to be conveyed is and that sucks because I’m always, always, always – did I mention always? – misunderstood. Stories of the misunderstood; it’s all true and coming soon.

Stay tuned for more happy and moody posts.