It was a rainy day in mid-February or March I think. Like always, I had underestimated the Stony Brook weather forecast, and gone out for my morning lecture wearing a simple rain jacket with a hoodie, thinking the hoodie would be enough to protect me from the rain.
Boy was I wrong.
The moment I walked into my lecture hall, soaking and shivering, I decided I would walk back to my dorm as soon as this devil of a lecture ended and get my umbrella for my walk to the next devil of a lecture of my day. And so I did. I walked all the way back, just to get my umbrella from my room, but there I was, shattered to millions of tiny little pieces, when after ten minutes of searching for my umbrella it finally dawned on me that my umbrella was…not there for me anymore.
I felt a lump on my throat. I wanted to cry. But I was still in denial. I asked all my suitemates if they’ve seen my umbrella. In my head I traced back every single step I took starting from two weeks ago, thinking of where I could’ve left it. It was definitely not in my room anymore. I even asked my friends, anyone and everyone, if they’ve seen my umbrella. I posted on social media, like a person posting fliers about their lost dog on trees.
“Why did this happen to me?” I kept asking myself. “Why do I end up losing the things I love, and need the most? How will I survive this harsh world; this cold rain??? HOW???”
I spiralled into depression, and lost every bit of hope I had in life. I blamed myself for my own loss. I wasn’t careful about my belongings, I felt like an incompetent umbrella owner.
Little did I know what this loss would come to teach me in a few weeks time.