We live in a material world with emotional purchases and items that grow close to our hearts. As much as we value the intangible aspects of life like friendships and health, we feel this certain sting whenever we lose a prized possession. Don't you ever randomly look at old photos and think "Boy, where did this thing go?"
I've just had the same experience when getting dressed for a day at Antwerp's Christmas market. From walking my dog earlier that day, I knew that the skies were clear and that a cold breeze was freezing my ears. To be fully equipped for a day out in the Central European winter, I started looking for my old, red, woolen hat which was my go-to winter accessory. I'd just started looking for it in my wardrobe when I realized that I had lost it a while ago already.
If I remember correctly, I lost it on a morning train on the way to Gent for a photo shoot. Back then, I had this big backpack with me, filled with the book Dune, snacks, my water bottle, clothes and make-up. I unpacked its whole content on my seat and lap, just to reach my headphones. When putting everything back inside, I must've overlooked my hat.
Dune was there. My red hat wasn't.
Perhaps it fell on the ground. Maybe I just put it on the seat next to me, since I would put it on later again anyway and then simply forgot about it. Eventually, I noticed that it was gone by the time I needed it in the afternoon.
This loss, which you could call actual psychological pain, instantly overwhelmed me when I reminded myself of that time on the train. It wasn't painful because of the hat's coziness or perfect fit that couldn't be copied. These characteristics didn't matter. It was painful because my grandmother had brought the hat for me and now it was gone.
My first visit to Japan and my family there was in 2005. All the recollections I have from this trip seem to be based on the photos we took, not on the actual experience. After 12 years, I finally made it to Japan again, this time to check out how I, as an adult, felt about this distant motherland of mine. In Japan, giving gifts is a virtue and so my grandmother welcomed me back with 2 woolen hats, a red one and a blue one. One was for me to keep and the other one was for me to give to my brother.
Grandma, the hat and Hachiko.
During this trip, I wore my hat every day. Of course, I did it to appreciate the gesture but also because I connected it emotionally to my grandmother who cared for me and didn't want me to catch a cold. Even years later, I put it on every time I left the house on a cold or windy day.
You could say that it's like a rule of life: the older you get, the more stuff you lose. Be it a self-made scarf, your favorite plushy or a bottle of perfume that reminded you of your mother. It always gives you this anxious feeling of guilt and sorrow when being reminded of what was once there but now isn't anymore.
Depending on the item and the mystery of how it got lost, you can feel desperate to get it back and start looking for it again every now and then, although it may be hopeless. In the case of my red hat, I've made my peace with it being gone. Luckily, I have another item gifted by my Japanese family, a beautiful scarf, that I will now prize even more.
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