“Detachment is not that you own nothing but that nothing owns you.”
Not everything we love becomes an object of sentiment. Yet when it does, your heart burns with the ache of knowing you could have irretrievably lost it.
I am twenty-two now, sitting on my bed, feeling a stinging pain welling up my little brown eyes. I have memories of it all. Me, sitting down on the steps at the porch. My aunt looking down at me with the sweetest smile. She said something about ‘something’ that I cannot remember. What I do remember is how embarrassingly jealous I was of a black onyx silver ring she had on.
The silver had intricate spirals that encircled around the stone. It reminded me of those victorian antique pieces. I truly believed then that, in my possession, that ring could turn my tiny body into a fully grown lady, perhaps with a lover. The lover would climb up to my room (I lived on the 14th floor) and kiss me under the moonlight.
I was a hopeless romantic then, and every day I carry that magic with me. At least I did. The ring reminded me of everything that I loved, just by the simple act of wearing it. Only I know what went through me when I lost it back at the studio. I was miserable.
So, I’m a fashion student and it’s pretty cool. An opportunity to work in a studio for two whole days. Making art out of our bodies and faces. Yeah, that defines cool. From a walking three eyed goddess to amoeba shaped eye prosthetics, this styling workshop made normalcy appear to be a luxury.
I’m so grateful that i had this experience. I do believe i was able to put out my best, creatively. However, my organisation skills were below par and that meant i didn’t know if i had my belongings in check. A crowded studio of 40 students and i had lost my black silver ring and few of my other more expensive items that seemed insignificant in comparison. I was being illogical. I was too emotional. I was so human.
I hadn’t seen it coming and now that I look back on it, I think I can never forgive myself for being so careless and even if I did, how can I forgive myself for investing my hefty emotions into an old piece of worn out jewelry? Because that is what it was, if my mind hadn’t glorified it so much.
It’s been 7 months since. I found the ring. Not at the studio but in my laundry bag, on a random Tuesday. I’m still not sure, how it ended up there. I’m still not sure how i feel about it. It took all my strength to make peace with losing it forever. I didn’t even feel relieved to find it. I felt nothing at all.
In conclusion, this whole experience has made me realise how losing your sentimental possessions is deadly. It often leaves you with the feeling that you’ve been wronged somehow. Regardless, there’s nothing wrong with loving something that has beautiful memories latched onto it. But there should be a part of ourselves that realises how important it is to detach from those things. To see yourself without relying on material aspects of life, no matter how badly they stir your emotions. So I believe the moral of the story is this : if loving something or even someone is starting to weigh heavy on your chest, it’s time to create some breathing space.
