I lost an earring the other day. I also got lost on the same day that an earring fell unbeknownst, from my ear, as I was making my rounds on the roads romantically named after locally known flowers.
I remember childhood tales of "tikbalangs" playing tricks on passers-by where they incredibly lose their way on familiar territories and find themselves in twilight zones (music is supposed to be played here: ni-ni-ni-ningggg ni-ni-ni-ninggg). If you are a Filipino, you must have heard of this (not the music but the tale). Enough said, I walked to retrace my steps this morning. On the pretense that I would like to try to find my earring, I brought Mr. S along. With an extra pair of eyes, I hoped to give justice to my lost article by looking for it, the least I could do in a hopeless situation. Also, maybe for closure. But the mission was also to discover how I got lost (or so it seemed in a quicksilver second).
No trace. Not even a bit of what people experience when they think they have found an oasis in the middle of a wasteland, a mirage in the climax of life-threatening thirst. But still, I prayed or hoped or wished. St. Jude just popped up in my mind very quickly. The patron saint of everything impossible. Is that right? I said a little prayer before I got distracted by the thought of an appointment in a few hours and at the same time trying to figure how I got lost that same day.
Itutuloy
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