losing phones

It doesn't matter if I graduated with honors. I'm still dangag as hell. To describe in three words what's lacking in my everyday life, it's PRESENCE OF MIND. And as with the Queen of Payatas Mara, there are stories that go behind the phones I lost. It isn't only one, Aiken. There have been three. So far.

The stories on how I lost my phone will not make up a couple of paragraphs of hunting down, panic and/or hysterics at the police.

Basically, it goes like:

a. The first one I left on a tricycle from the Dumaguete Airport. I was only in second year college. I only realized I lost my phone when I was already lugging my suitcase up Carson Hall's steps, so I tried combing the plants along the walkway praying it just fell there. It didn't. Happy ang tricycle driver.

b. The second one was in my third year (two years later, after Japan). It was a field trip to Boracay with my advertising class, and we were already on the way to the pier for a ferry that can take us from Iloilo to Bacolod. Inside the taxi, I put down my shoulder bag (with Canon Ixy 500 camera, phone, wallet, makeup) on the floor of the passenger seat because I had a big backpack and was carrying the entire class' ferry money on my right hand. The taxi overheated and we had to catch a new taxi to get us quickly to the pier. I only realized I didn't have my shoulder bag with me when we were already in the other taxi. We turned around and the overheated taxi was gone. And guess what, we missed the ferry too.

My lovable advertising teacher was amazed I was playing tong-its at the pier while waiting for the next ferry trip after I lost around P30,000 worth of things. I placed a call to a radio station (nanawagan kung baga), and left it up to fate. I knew it won't be returned again anyway. Not in Iloilo. In Bacolod, I might have had a better chance. Happy taxi driver.

3. The third time was just four days ago. I realized I didn't have my 6300 with me at the Sibulan pier (for the ferry to Cebu). Just an hour before that, I was sitting on one of the benches in front of Hibbard Hall, happy, in love, relaxed, looking at the acacia trees, the church, the Frisbees whizzing overhead, the clouds, yada yada yada. The next thing I know, I was biting my nails just before boarding the ferry, hoping someone saw my phone at the amphi.

Apparently, as the guy named Kent from NORSU texted me later, he found my phone on the side of the road, where it most likely fell out of my bag while I was on a motorcycle to the pier. He kept the phone on for a day, fueling my hopes of its return, then turned it off the next day. Happy NORSU student.

Therefore, I have come to the realization that a) I lose most of my stuff when I travel (not only phones eh, ATMS too), and b) I make other people happy when I lose my stuff.

I think it happens when I am not particularly thinking of anything important, when I just let my mind coast, then BAM! no bag or no phone or no wallet.

It's a bad habit, I know. I have rationalized it to the point of not freaking out after a minor imaginary banging of my head on the wall, and concentrate on moving on.

Aiken said that I just tell myself at least it's just a phone (or three). Mara said that I should just tell myself that at least nothing else more valuable got lost (like both a camera and a phone).

I think I'll just tell myself I made someone happy with my stupidity and leave it at that. Has a better ring to it, dontcha think?:)

Hay, life.