It’s been more than a week since it happened so I can safely write about it now without the ugly crying.
I lost my ring. My engagement ring.
Now, excuse me while I scurry and cover myself in a fluffy comfort blanket while you all give a collective “WHAT???!“.
Coast clear? Ok.
So yes. I did. I’m part of the 2/3 of the brides I know who lost their engagement rings. The other 1/3 only “lost” hers for a few hours. She was lucky that she found it in the most usual, and yet unusual place to find a ring, after searching the whole office floor and trying not to cry. But hey, not my story to tell so let’s go back to the one that I can freely talk about.
It was a Thursday. A supposed to be fun Thursday when I noticed that I’m not wearing my ring after dinner. Mini heart attack!!! The kind that you feel when you can’t find your phone and have searched everywhere — only to find it in the first place where you looked for it. Or worse, finding it snugly placed in your other hand.
This was not that kind.
After searching the last 3 places where I went, and trying to be as calm as possible, I decided to tell the fiancé. He told me to be calm, report to security and the cleaners, and look for it again. So I did. At this point, I was patting myself on the back for not even allowing a single tear to drop.
After reporting, I searched in the places where you don’t want the ring to be — the lavatory sinks and the trash cans. I pathetically scourged through the leftover chicken, rice, goto, and pancit, hoping to find my dainty emerald-encrusted rose gold band. Every time something shiny comes up, my heart would skip a bit. But it’s just grease and oil and everything you don’t want on your ring finger. At this point, I would like to give my two officemates who helped me search through the trash a big hug. But I can’t because I might end up ugly crying.
Admitting defeat, I went back to my pod and just went through my usual work — meetings, process documents, brainstorming with colleagues… But in between, I retraced my day, trying to find the last point when I can remember wearing it. In between, I looked for clues — in the pictures that I took, in the pictures that my officemates took, in my bag, in my purse, in practically every place where you can accidentally put a ring.
Then the fiancé called. “Any luck?”, he asked. “No..”, I said. “Don’t worry about it. Just stay calm and stop overthinking”. I nodded.But then I realized that physical affirmations are not visible over phone calls so I said, “Ok…”.
He then picked me up after work and we went home together. One second after riding the cab, I did it. The silent ugly crying. The pent up emotions that I was trying to suppress for hours. He held my hand. He held it tight. I silently cried trying not to scandalize the cab driver. He doesn’t have to know, right?
Going up to my place, we were silent. No talking until I opened the door to my room and let Mr. F out. Mr. F, wagging tail and all, has no clue. He did his usual happy dance, while he alternately greeted us with much excitement. We greeted him back with muted happiness. He doesn’t have to know, right?
I went through the usual pet owner pre-sleep routine — clean the potty, clean the feeding bowl, wash the pet linen, make sure there’s enough water in his dispenser, and grooming his face. All this time, Christian was patiently waiting for me to make the first move. Or utter the first word.
When there was nothing else to do, I knew it was time to have THE TALK. I sat beside him and he looked at me, and called me — not with my first name, but his endearment. I couldn’t help it. It was time for THE UGLY CRYING. He comforted me for a whole 15 minutes until I calmed down. He told me that there’s no use in crying over it because it’s just a thing.
“But you gave it to me..”
“We can always get another one..”
“But that’s the one that you proposed with..”
“Then we’ll have the jeweller create the same ring..”
“But it wouldn’t be the same. It would just be a replica. Everytime I look at it, it would just remind me of the first ring that I lost…”
“Well… There’s really nothing that we can do about it. We just need to move on..”
“Are you mad at me?”
“Not even a little?”
“Well, yes… At first… But after thinking it through, I realized it’s not entirely your fault. Accidents happen. And you tried everything to find it. There’s really no point in blaming you.”
“I hate myself for losing it!”
“Now that’s when I get mad at you. Don’t you ever hate yourself because of that. It’s not your fault!”
“But let me just hate myself for 5 minutes..”
“Ok then… But after that, no more.”
And so I did. I hated myself. But I didn’t have my 5 minutes. After just a minute or so of self-hating, Mr. F started humping something in front of us with such eagerness that we both burst out laughing. That’s the thing about dogs. They may not understand our language but they know when to make us smile. Or if we’re lucky, make us laugh so hard when we’re in the dumps.
After trying to calm the libido-filled Mr. F, he snuggled back to me. He wiped away my tears and he kissed me on the forehead. And that’s when I realized that I’m marrying the perfect guy. Not THE perfect guy. But the perfect guy for me.
I may not have a ring. But I already have a treasure.