Until one day, I recalled about that ring. I rushed to take my handbag out of the closet and frantically searched in the inner pocket and at every corner of my handbag. But I couldn’t find the neatly wrapped tissue where I secured my precious ring.
I repeated the search several times, hoping the tissue-filled diamond would magically appear. But it didn’t happen.
My heart plunged deeply. I tried to remember what happened within a few days after my gym session.
I switched my handbag and transferred all the stuff to the other handbag. And usually, that was also when I threw away some ‘paper trash’ I accumulated from my handbag.
In the worst-case scenario, I might throw away the tissue, thinking it was trash. Oh, dear God. What had I done?
Trying to retrieve that ring from the main garbage bin in my apartment was pointless. It must have been taken away and transported to a landfill somewhere.
My heart sank in despair. That ring meant a lot to me. Yes, I forced my dear sister to buy it for me, but I didn’t plan to keep it forever. I planned that one day, I would give the ring to my niece once she grew up. Now, that moment that I had been waiting for had vanished.
I imagined the ring was buried under tons of waste and dirt. Soon, the tissues would disintegrate, and that pretty ring would open naked to the harsh elements of a dirty and stinky landfill.
Once all the organic matter decomposed into its other form, that poor ring would still be there, together with other forever chemical materials like plastic. What a tragic fate for such a beautiful ring.
My heart was never in peace after that. I knew the ring was mine, not my sister’s. I could do anything with the ring, including losing it ridiculously.
But deep down, I felt guilty. For almost ten years, I kept it for myself. Until one day, I couldn’t bear the heaviness in my heart and confessed.
