Reflections on a stolen bag

3/4 into our holiday trip, my dad’s camera bag got stolen. It was quite a horrible experience for me as I was tasked to look after the bag. As we took the train ride to our next destination, not much words were said between my father and I. Both of us were feeling down. The image of the bag being stolen kept replaying in my mind. What if I paid more attention? What if I pulled the bag slightly closer to me? What if we decided to wait on the platform instead of going to such an open cafe? A thousand possibilities surfaced. All of which might have produced a different outcome. Why this particular one? How unfortunate can it be to have this happen to us?  Why am I even here? If only I didn’t come to this place. What a horrible experience… I took a quick glance at my dad who was seated beside me visibly upset. Then it dawned on me that he was still beside me. For a split second I felt strangely thankful that he was still beside me and that we had a few more days of travelling together. Yes, it doesn’t negate the horrible experience of having something stolen. But it did make me pause for a while to realise that comparing the cost of what was stolen to precious moments of being able to travel with my entire family just a few days earlier and now having alone time with my dad (who is only getting older every year) to see parts of the world, what was stolen though expensive -so damn expensive- was in the grand scheme of things not that expensive. To be able to spend time with my dad overseas alone far out priced whatever amount that was stolen simply because no matter how hard I work, I would never be able to buy time to travel with family. Stealing something worth money should not be enough to overcome precious moments of seeing the world with people you love.

It was only a very brief moment of comfort before the image of the sickening thief came back to my mind. A brief moment that enabled me to still utter a few words of thanksgiving before fuming again.

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