In a Silent Way

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Week 07

I wrote something earlier this week about the energy of living spaces and furniture, but I haven’t felt like finishing it or even posting it. This week has been strange. I’ve had no bearing on time at all, and I got almost every day wrong in my head. On Tuesday, it felt like it was Friday. On Wednesday, I was briefly confused about it being Monday. And to top it off, on Thursday, I realised I had lost my favourite scarf—a whole week ago. It was the nicest wool scarf I owned. I had forgotten it in the climbing gym locker, and when I went back to look for it, it wasn’t in their lost and found. My guess is that someone found it in the locker and decided to keep it rather than turn it in. I’m angry at them in that distant, vague way one is angry at something unknown, but I don’t really blame them. It was a classy scarf, and I get why someone would take it. Still, it’s made me incredibly sad, and, unbeknownst to most, I’ve been brooding over it all weekend.

“I don’t want to get over it,” I think irritably, overhearing a girl’s advice to her friend about something I didn’t quite catch. It had nothing to do with me, but in that moment, her words felt like the universe mocking me as I stood there slowly losing hope, watching the receptionist rummage in the tiny area beneath the desk. By Saturday, I considered buying an exact replacement, but then realised I didn’t even remember the brand. I could probably figure it out somehow, I thought — desperate for a plan of action that would provide some resolution. By Sunday, I knew that having an exact replacement wouldn’t make me feel any better. It wasn’t just about replacing it. It was about that specific scarf — the one I already had.

It’s not the first time I’ve lost something of value, but I have been sulking about this for four days now. I miss this one a lot, which is maybe a weird thing to say for a scarf, but sometimes we attach a meaning to things that goes beyond the physical thing itself. This scarf was tied to a very specific memory — one that shaped how I think about the things I own. It wasn’t really about the scarf itself, but about the story behind it and what it meant to me. It’s not something I ever thought about consciously, but such is the way with these things, I suppose. The abruptness of loss unsettles you in ways you don’t fully realise. You don’t think of the scarf at all — until one day, it’s just gone. And no other scarf seems to fit quite the same way again as your trusty old friend.

I would like to believe that the scarf is on a journey, floating out in the universe on its own. You hope that it eventually comes back to you in some form, in the way you hope that the good karma you put into the world comes back to you. For a while, I will be watching the people who come and go at the gym. Maybe, after enough time passes, the new owner will forget how they came to own the scarf and end up wearing it to the gym. I don’t know why I think this; it’s not like I would confront them if I spotted them wearing it. What would I even say when I don’t even remember the brand of the scarf? Maybe I’d see if it suits them or not, but I also know that I would hope against it. Not knowing what else to do, I put my details down at the reception on a piece of torn receipt paper, hoping for a miracle “in case it shows up.” However, something about the nature of the torn paper and the vastness of the universe makes me feel that, good karma or not, this one is likely not coming back again.

🥘 Food
📚 Reading
💿 Listening
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