Back then we lived in a 2-level dormitory where seniors reside in separate rooms on the third floor while juniors had to stay on shared rooms on the second. I was privileged to already be a senior since I studied in the same institution during High School; hence I had my own room! Back at home, I shared my room with my younger brother and there’s nothing much I could do to make it homely the way I would so there in the dormitory, I did all I could to personalize my room. I had throw pillows, a bean bag, some cartolina, curtains, shelves, some old pictures, and some cloth running on the wall. The walls were low, and didn’t close to the high ceiling and they were made with light materials so it was easy do decorate them. Every week, I changed the setting of my room. I was free to do so! I once tied my blanket over my bed making a sort of canopy one would usually see on palace four post beds! But, even though the settings change, there was one detail that I never really moved. It was my first, and only discman which I hung in one spot where, wherever I placed all my stuff in the room, nothing would affect access to it. Sure, the Discman was portable, but I tried to make it unportable, making it a part of my room, like a home theatre set or what was then the famous component. Two trusty speakers were set with it. Every day, whenever it was legal, I would play into full blast speakers a CD I had had burned by a Hi-School friend, and I’d let all the serenity of the dorm melt away. No MP3, MP4, or other player could match it, since apple was yet to come with a cheap version of the iPod and since I’ve yet to discover how an MP3 works. It was my favourite thing in the world! But on that day, it happened.
Since there was an activity, a family day for that matter, we had mass at the chapel and meals in the auditorium with my family. It was a busy day. People I’ve known from high school visited and I’m all hyped, excited to meet all of them. Only two in our batch pursued education in the seminary and almost all my classmates was either studying in Angeles or in
At first, I didn’t know what to do. I tried to search for anyone suspicious in the corridors. The halls were full of people so I felt it would be hopeless to search for it among the people and make a scandal. I told my parents about the incident but their reaction wasn’t most reassuring. They tried to sympathize with me without guaranteeing a replacement. I hoped they’d replace it but they didn’t. I reported the incident to our director though at that point, I was already ready to let the issue pass away. I felt that it didn’t matter that it was stolen.
The next day, there were no classes as it was set as a rest day lieu of the busy day that it followed. We were called to the study hall at the second floor. There were cops. It seems the directors didn’t take yesterday’s incident lightly. The police were trying to pull out the culprit saying that they’d interview us one by one if the thief didn’t give in and each would have a police blotter and that it would be a shame. At that moment, I couldn’t care anymore. It didn’t matter if they found the thief though it would be trivial. If ever I found out who the thief is, maybe I’d dig my fist on his face. Or maybe I’d push him down from the roof top. But it didn’t matter if I did find out. I can’t be bothered anymore.
I just realized that in life, the more one has, the more one may lose; that, along the way, this is just one of those things I’d lose or would be taken away from me. Not that I have so much, or not that I’m careless of my things. It’s just that losing things is inevitable and I’ve come to accept that. These are all just material things and sooner or later, they’d fade away or get lost. And by the time that happens, something new and better is to come. Still, I’m not in a rush for that. So, to all that hath taken from me, and are yet to, God bless!