I lost my phone. I’m probably going to tell it like a narrative. I don’t know why I want it to be. It just feels like it’s the right thing to do. Or it could also be the effect of reading a few pages of The Perks of Being A Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky. So here is the story.
I went to the “jeepney stop” as I always do every after school. It was 4:53 and so obviously, it was almost 5. There weren’t any Tacloban-Palo jeep so when a motorcycle said it was going to Palo, I and two other women rode the vehicle. I was the last one to get off. When the other women left, as I usually do, I felt my pocket just to make sure my cellphone was there and it was there. When the driver finally dropped me off my house, I paid the fee said thanks and left. I changed into my home clothes. My sister bought me her promised card reader. So I was excited because I would finally be able to save the One Direction and NLT songs I downloaded. But, unfortunately, I think I spent an hour looking for my phone. Because I knew it was in my pocket. My mother and sister decided to missed call my number. I tried to find if there was any ringing noise at home (my ringtone was Westlife’s Uptown Girl). But I didn’t hear any. My heart sank. When my sister called it again, someone answered it but no one spoke. My sister narrated that she could hear noise like a busy highway and that she told the person to please return the phone. So someone had my phone which I don’t understand because I was positive it was in my pocket. (I was like: “What kind of sorcery is this?”) My sister called again and my phone was finally unattended. Thus, the conclusion that whoever had my phone has no intention of returning it to me. I started crying not because it was a very expensive phone (it was a Samsung GTE3100, I think) or because it contained my contacts of my classmates and my family and I had my favorite music in my playlist there. I cried and muttered apologies because it was my sister’s graduation gift for me. It held a sentimental value. My mother and sister comforted me. They said it was okay and that my sister (the one who gave it to me) will understand. My mother continued with saying that it’s part of life. You own something and you lose it. I too knew that this was just a worldly possession (although, it held a sentimental value but the value itself is still tied between me and my sister) and that every one of these things aren’t forever. They are not permanent. Then I started having thoughts that whoever had it would have his conscience eat him (I doubt it). So now, I could only do is pray for that person and pray that my sister would forgive me.