Saturday, 24 September 2016


I am no stranger to losing things. That feeling of crippling frustration, of not being able to locate that damn pencil you just put down for a second. It's like not being able to remember the lyrics of your favorite song or the name of the person you meet everyday. It's at the tip of your tongue, gnawing at you, keeping you up at night... Because that is what losing something, even as trivial as a hair tie feels. Until, if you're lucky, that moment of rediscovery; when you realize the thing you've been searching for has been right there in front of you this whole time. Hiding in plain sight. 

But, do you ever wonder, even for that brief second– where do all the lost things go? Whether it's the loose change in the couch or your favourite sweatshirt in the wash. Is there a place where all the orphaned socks and stray Tupperware lids go? Do they teleport to some Interstellar-esque fifth dimension and relocate there? An inventory of lost things, that perhaps Tom Hanks alone is privy to.

I think that's where I am at, right now. Like I've somehow slipped through the cracks and landed in the place where all the lost things go. Trapped in this purgatory of sorts, neither here nor there. Just waiting to be found. Its like I'm finally winning at hide-and-seek. Except it doesn't feel like I'm really winning at all.