Not All Lost Things Should Be Found

As I stood, a gust of wind washed away my blanket with everything on it..even the pages that I had gathered in a pile.

It was 2 AM and I was writing my diary in bed. I usually wake up really late on Saturdays and obviously keep up all night. Night is my creative time –  time to get more vulnerable, to blog, solve those problems I couldn’t solve at work, realize how cute my dog is etc. A random beep on the phone and it’s Google photos. I mean who else would I expect to hear from, at that time of the hour, anyways. It prompted me to re-discover that day, from 3 years ago. The collage it created was so beautiful, it left me feeling nostalgic. And it’s then I remembered that my old diary was still lying around somewhere discreet, probably catching dust. I rampaged my room going from one suitcase to the other, the document folders, my clothes rack and finally happened to find it. I go back and tuck myself into bed, comparing all my days to those from 3 years ago. Laughing at how naive I was back then, I almost didn’t notice when I slipped into sleep. 

As usual woke late the next day too and realized that the world is almost half done with their chores while I was busy dreaming. I have to admit, I love such lazy weekends. My calendar on weekdays is so swamped that I hardly get to sleep anyway. It’s winter so the sun usually went down by 5 PM. Well, I still had 4 hours to catch some sun before it goes down, so I jumped out of my bed, brushed, fed my dog, walked him, took a quick shower, grabbed my keys, spread some jam on four slices of bread, all set  to go on a drive. As I got to the door, I realized that I had left my diary half-read last night. I grabbed it real quick and set on a ride. Where to? A beach, around 40 mins away from home. The weather was nice so why not, I thought.

I just got lucky that the Bakers beach hardly had any visitors that day. As soon as I got there, I took out the emergency blanket from my trunk, took my belongings and walked in the sand, with slippers hanging from my little finger. A nice shady spot against the rock, invited me in.

I sat down, bit into a piece of bread, as I widened my eyes to look at a couple walking in a distance. The waves added a beautiful melody to the scenery in front of me. Dusting my hands off, extending my legs, I felt the warm sun on my feet. I sat there to take in the views for a while and when the beach was almost deserted, I grabbed my dairy with a sigh and started where I left off. The header on the page I was reading, said “What’s mine, will always be mine”.  As I begin to read page after page, I felt like going back to the old me and giving her a tight hug. The old me was way innocent, overly trusting and gullible. I want to believe that I am not the same anymore. Is it a good idea to do this? I wondered as I start to re-experience all the emotions from years ago. 

A part of me wanted to chuck it all, but another part of me felt like reading it all, feeling it all over again. I needed to feel the hurt because that is how I will grow stronger, that is how I will grow out of it. I wanted to be hurt so bad that any amount of hurt cannot hurt me no more. And that meant, reading the pages no matter what. After a while, I gave up. 

Practicality kicked in to remind me that I should never  pen down my sad thoughts, ever. I needed to discard the pages, all of them. Because it matters no more. It shouldn’t matter anymore. I slowly pick and choose the ones I want to get rid off, tear the pages and put them beside me in a pile with a small stone as a weight to hold it from the wind. It is almost dawn as I hurried up to stand up so I could stretch and walk along the water.

As I stood, a gust of wind washed away my blanket with everything on it..even the pages that I had gathered in a pile. I ran behind, chasing them, trying to hold my hat with the other. To my surprise, I see some human running towards me from the other side of the beach, with my blanket, a ziplock and probably a few pages from my diary. I thanked him, as I takeover all the garbage and saw him stare curiously at a page. This page had a sketch of a car on it. “ Is that your car? ” he asked and I nodded with a smile. “Well. You’re a good artist” he said and went on “Is there anything else you lost?” I took a deep breath and replied, “Yes and I don’t want it to be found.”

Image via Pixabay

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About the Author

Sheetal Pagadakula

A Software Engineer by profession with a penchant for art and writing. An ardent believer in the power of positive thinking and the need for self-advocacy. Loves to travel and explore her passions. read more...

3 Posts | 8,079 Views

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